


The Price of Peace

by Maeglin_Yedi



Series: The Peace Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Established Relationship, M/M, Sequel, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:54:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeglin_Yedi/pseuds/Maeglin_Yedi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After ten years of peace, there is now a price to pay, as Harry discovers.</p>
<p>Sequel to The Semblance of Peace. AU from HBP onwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Harry/Voldemort/Snape, other minor pairings (both het and slash)  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Disclaimer: They all belong to J.K. Rowling. I just make them shag.   
> Warnings: AU from HBP onwards
> 
> Summary: After ten years of peace, there is now a price to pay, as Harry discovers.
> 
> A/N: Sequel to The Semblance of Peace. You should definitely read that story first, otherwise this one won't make much sense. 
> 
> Big thanks to Fluffyllama for the beta!

Harry shifted on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position, pushing his flimsy blanket to the side. Voices outside the living room drifted closer and Harry squeezed his eyes shut as though that would stop him from hearing them.

"Leave him be," Snape said on the other side of the closed living room door. 

"It's been almost two months," Voldemort replied, and Harry could clearly hear the repressed anger in his voice. It had little effect on him anymore, since he'd heard it so often before. "I am done with his childish behaviour," Voldemort continued, only interrupted by a tired sigh from Snape. "Harry and I made a deal, and I expect him to honour it."

"Your deal did not include _this_ ," Snape said with a hiss. 

Voldemort remained quiet for a few seconds. "We may not have discussed the means, but Harry and I reached a very clear understanding -- "

"That did not include this," Snape muttered, and Harry imagined him crossing his arms to emphasize his point. 

"It was implied!" Now Voldemort started sounding almost petulant, and Harry knew Snape had won the discussion yet again, and Harry could finally get some sleep on their couch, for the umpteenth night in a row. 

"The boy is stubborn, you know this," Snape said, voice smoother now. Harry rolled his eyes; he was 28 years old and Snape still called him a boy more often than not.

"I will force him," Voldemort said through gritted teeth.

"And throw away everything we've accomplished over the last ten years? You know as well as I do that Harry will not forgive you if you force this upon him."

Voldemort grumbled something unintelligible, which was followed by the sound of a door banging open and shut. 

Silence for a minute or two, and then Snape said through the closed door, "You'd better find a way to solve this issue, Harry, because I am about to cast a Cruciatus on both of you."

"Good night, Severus," Harry called out and then pointedly rolled on his side, his back to the door. No reply followed, and Harry released a deep breath and closed his eyes.

\-----

The next morning, Harry shuffled into their shared office to find it empty, thankfully. He sat down behind his desk, placed his cup of tea beside his typewriter, and stretched his arms over his head. Writing his travel stories had not gone well over the last two months, ever since Voldemort had dropped his bomb that had turned Harry's rather peaceful existence upside down.

Harry had never thought he'd be a published writer someday, but there he was, a travel book author with five published titles to his name, all of which had been translated into several languages and were sold in wizarding bookstores all over the world. He'd started writing his travel stories to amuse himself whenever he needed a break from Voldemort's relentless research into ancient magic or Snape's obsessive search for new potions ingredients. He'd never considered publishing them until he discovered Snape reading one of them, quietly snickering in genuine amusement. Well, Harry had reasoned, if they could make Snape laugh, perhaps his stories weren't rubbish after all, and he'd sent a manuscript off to a publisher with favourable results. 

Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Harry stared at the blank piece of paper in his typewriter. They were living in Naples now, had been for the last year, since Voldemort wanted to study the ruins of Pompeii, and he really shouldn't be having trouble writing amusing stories about wizarding and Muggle life in Italy but for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything to write about that was even remotely funny. 

It was all Voldemort's fault, for daring to suggest that Harry -- 

The door banged open and in walked Snape, followed by Voldemort. 

Harry rose from his chair, ready to flee their office and spend the day elsewhere, but Snape glared at him and hissed, "Sit down."

Glaring right back, Harry sank down in his chair. They wanted another argument, another fight? So be it. 

Voldemort ignored Harry and pretended to read a few scraps of parchment on his own desk. 

"We are going to resolve this issue once and for all," Snape said quietly, but Harry could see his lips twitching with silent fury. 

Voldemort finally looked up from his desk. "I have nothing to say to Harry as long as he refuses to - "

"Quiet!" Snape bellowed, startling Harry and even Voldemort. Yes, they'd lived together for ten years now as companions and lovers and perhaps even as friends, but Harry couldn't recall Snape ever raising his voice at Voldemort before. Voldemort's hazel eyes flashed crimson, but Snape held his ground and pointed to Voldemort's chair. "Sit down," he whispered. "We are going to find a solution, or so help me I will pack my bags and leave you two to stew in your stubbornness for the rest of your miserable lives."

Voldemort stared at Snape for a few long moments and then, much to Harry's amazement, he sank down into his chair, and said quietly, "The resolution to this issue is simple, Severus, as well you know -- "

"I'm not making a horcrux!" Harry yelled, just like he'd done so many times over the past two months. 

"Yes, you will!" Voldemort yelled right back. "I will not lose you --"

"It was just dragon pox, for fuck's sake!"

"You almost died!"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, and with the other hand he swished his wand around and Harry, who'd been about to yell at Voldemort that yes, he'd been very ill but he had recovered, hadn't he, lost his voice. He opened and closed his mouth but no sound came out, and when he looked at Voldemort, he realized Voldemort was suddenly mute as well. 

"Much better," Snape said with a satisfied sneer. Harry stared daggers at him, and Voldemort reached for his wand, his tight expression a promise of pain to come. "I have a solution," Snape said calmly, and Voldemort, who'd just raised his wand at Snape, lowered his hand again and tilted his head in open curiosity. 

"A solution that will hopefully satisfy you both," Snape said, and sat down in the chair behind his own desk, leaning back as he looked between Harry and Voldemort. "Harry's recent brush with death has made it clear he needs to achieve immortality for him to continue his role as your horcrux."

Harry rolled his eyes. Yes, he'd been ill with dragon pox for a few weeks, and unfortunately he'd been one in a hundred wizards who was allergic to the potions designed to cure the pox, so he'd had to let the disease take its course. Snape had been convinced Harry would pull through, but Voldemort had acted like the world was about to end and as soon as Harry had been well enough to sit up in bed, Voldemort had demanded Harry make a horcrux of his own, which Harry had outright refused and thus their two-month-long fight had begun. 

"Harry has made it clear he has no desire to create a horcrux of his own, as you well know, _Tom_." Snape almost never called Voldemort by his real name, and Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Snape. "However, there are other, less intrusive, ways to become immortal."

Waving his hand in an impatient gesture, since he and Harry were both still mute, Voldemort ordered Snape to continue. 

"We could create a Philosopher's Stone," Snape whispered and gave them both a smirk.

Harry jumped up from his seat and pointed at Snape, nodding his head frantically and mouthing 'yes' over and over again.

Snorting, Snape swished his wand again and Harry had his voice back. 

"Yes," he said for good measure. "That is the only way I will ever consider immortality."

Voldemort sighed. "You think I haven't already considered this?"

"Could have fooled me with your horcrux obsession," Harry muttered, but thankfully Voldemort ignored him.

"The problem is that none of us know how to make a Philosopher's Stone," Voldemort said. "Research would take years, and I will not risk Harry's life during that time. He needs to become immortal now."

Snape held his hand up before Harry could protest. "Research might take some time, but I'm convinced that with the right resources it will not be years."

Voldemort cocked his head just as Harry asked, "Resources? What resources?"

"I know for a fact that Nicolas Flamel left all his research to Dumbledore upon his death, and I'm sure the headmaster has it hidden away somewhere at Hogwarts."

Harry, who'd still been standing, sat down at once. "Hogwarts?" he whispered, his chest tightening in a way it hadn't done for years now. 

Snape nodded solemnly, while Voldemort looked between them with a frown. "Return to Britain?" he said, apparently more to himself than to Harry and Snape. 

"That is the only way, yes."

"But," Harry started, and then swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. They'd spent 10 years travelling the world, they'd seen more countries than Harry could possibly remember, and it had been a good life, even a happy life, all things considered. Yet the one subject none of them had ever broached was a possible return to Britain. Not even when Voldemort's published works on all the ancient magic he'd uncovered had earned him invitations to speaking engagements in London, and not even when Snape had created a few new patented potions that got his face on the cover of _Potions Monthly_ and earned him multiple requests for interviews with other British magazines, and not even when Harry's travel stories had topped the British bestseller lists for months on end and his British publisher all but begged him to return to make a few public appearances. 

Never had any of them even uttered the thought of returning to Britain before, and here Snape was doing just that.

"But," Harry said again, looking helplessly between Snape and Voldemort. "Won't that be too risky?"

"There are risks, yes, but I believe they are worth taking," Snape said reasonably. Harry wasn't sure if he agreed with that. He vividly remembered Ginny's body lying abandoned in the Chamber of Secrets. 

"I agree with Severus," Voldemort said, and leaned closer towards Harry over his desk. "It is of the utmost importance that you become immortal, my little horcrux, and since you refuse to do it the easiest way - "

"Creating a horcrux is hardly easy," Harry said, familiar anger igniting in his chest.

"Your soul is already split," Voldemort countered quickly. "All you need to do is extract that piece -- "

"Not this again." Snape shook his head and released a deep, suffering breath. 

"Fine!" Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "We'll make a bloody Philosopher's Stone. I just don't want to take any unnecessary risks if we return to Britain. People might recognize you," he said with a pointed look at Voldemort, who curved an eyebrow in return. "People who knew you as Tom Riddle, I mean," Harry added. "You still look like Tom Riddle, just a bit older."

Voldemort snorted and was about to reply when Snape beat him to it. "Harry, very few people even know Tom Riddle became the Dark Lord. And of those people who do know -- the Order of the Phoenix -- none know what Tom Riddle looked like, save for you."

"McGonagall went to school with him!" Harry said, pointing at Voldemort. "She definitely knows what he looks like."

"McGonagall retired several years ago." Snape sounded far too unconcerned for Harry's liking. "Last I heard, she's living in southern France now."

But Harry was not that easily convinced. "How about Dumbledore's portrait? He knows. And all the other portraits at Hogwarts?"

Voldemort huffed. "Portraits are easily confunded should they recognize me."

"Hmm." Harry considered that for a moment. It still didn't sit well with him. "Or you could stay behind, while Severus and me get the research," he said, giving Voldemort a pleading look.

"No," Snape said, much to Harry's surprise. "We need him there."

"Huh?"

"We need his name and reputation to gain access to Flamel's research. If you and I try to collect the research, it might draw the wrong kind of attention to us, since neither one of us has any kind of background in that kind of magic." Snape gestured at Voldemort. "But if Joseph Taylor, famed wizarding scholar in ancient magic, shows an interest, I doubt people would suspect us of any wrongdoing."

"I believe you are correct," Voldemort said with a firm nod. "We shall return to Britain as soon as possible."

Harry sighed and rubbed his face. He was glad their epic fight finally seemed over, but this solution, no matter how benign it seemed, did nothing to squelch the tightening pressure in his chest.

\-----

Harry popped the DVD in the player, hit the play button, and settled on the couch, a bag of crisps and a can of 7-Up within easy reach. He'd spent the rest of the morning avoiding Snape and Voldemort, even though their differences had been settled. But the idea of going back to Britain weighed so heavily on him that he needed some time alone. He had walked around Naples for an hour or so, picked up some groceries, and once at home he'd taken care of some menial household tasks. And now he wanted to lose himself in one of his favourite movies for a while.

Munching on some crisps, his attention on the TV screen, Harry didn't notice someone walked into the living room until hands gently touched his shoulders. 

"The Shawshank Redemption? Again? You have issues, Harry."

Those familiar words brought a smile to Harry's face, and it was easy to forget he'd spent most of the last two months wanting to throttle Voldemort. Harry glanced over his shoulder at Voldemort, who looked rather expectant, and patted the couch beside him. Voldemort accepted the invitation and sank down on the couch, his thigh brushing Harry's. 

Watching Muggle movies together had become a favourite hobby of them both over the years. Of course, Voldemort spent most of that time criticizing whatever Harry choose to see, but it was all in good fun. 

"It's a good movie," Harry said with a glance at Voldemort. 

"Get busy living, or get busy dying." Voldemort looked at Harry intently. "That is exactly what these past two months have been about, haven't they?"

Harry sighed. "Let's not get into that. Not again."

"Very well." Voldemort touched his fingers to Harry's cheek. "Then what shall we get into?"

Before he could help himself Harry leaned into that touch. God, it had been so long since they'd been intimate. First those stupid dragon pox and then Harry had moved to the couch during their epic fight. He'd propositioned Snape for a private moment together, but Snape had refused to touch Harry as long as his differences with Voldemort had not been resolved. 

It had been three months without an intimate touch or even a kiss, and the feeling of Voldemort's fingers tracing patterns over his cheek and throat was driving him insane with desire. 

Harry touched his hand to Voldemort’s chest, who took this as an invitation and leaned closer to brush his lips across Harry’s. 

“It’s been too long, my little horcrux,” Voldemort whispered against Harry’s lips.

Harry kissed him, teasing his tongue against Voldemort’s. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours.” Voldemort didn’t give Harry a chance to respond, but deepened their kiss and pushed Harry back against the couch. 

“At least you had Snape,” Harry mumbled, and then gasped when Voldemort attached his mouth to the soft skin just below his ear. 

“Severus?” Voldemort pulled back to look Harry in the eye. “He refused all contact as long as we did not come up with a solution."

"With you, too?" Harry asked, and couldn't help but grin. "That bastard."

"Hmm." Voldemort tugged on Harry's t-shirt, and Harry raised his arms so Voldemort could pull it off over his head. As Harry started fumbling with the buttons on Voldemort's shirt, Voldemort made short work of the button and zipper of Harry's jeans. Voldemort's shirt was next to go, revealing a toned and bronzed chest, which Harry was unable to resist. He licked around Voldemort's nipple and sucked it into his mouth. 

Voldemort pushed Harry's jeans down. "We need lube." It sounded almost like a moan.

"No time for that," Harry muttered against Voldemort's chest while he yanked Voldemort's trousers down. "Let's just..." He bucked his hips up and his erection slid against Voldemort's, who answered him with a quiet groan. 

"Like that," Harry said with a smile and lay back against the couch so Voldemort could find his bearings with one foot on the floor. They thrust together while Harry buried his fingers in Voldemort's black hair and pulled him closer for a kiss. Their tongues battled, Voldemort trying to kiss Harry into submission like he always did, and Harry welcomed it and bared his throat and spread his legs. 

They bucked and thrust, their hard cocks sliding and rubbing, and it was just a bit sloppy and rough, and after three months of celibacy, the best bloody thing Harry had ever felt. 

Harry groaned and bit at Voldemort's lips and whispered, "Close." Squeezing his eyes shut, he spilled himself between their heaving bodies, back arching and fingers digging into Voldemort's shoulders. Voldemort was not far behind, gritting his teeth and leaning his cheek against Harry's as he came with a few short, quick thrusts. 

Panting, Harry looked up at Voldemort's face and stroked his hand down Voldemort's throat. He was still as handsome as ever, though his previously pale skin was now tanned since they spent so much time outdoors. Over the years Harry's perception of him had changed gradually, from handsome Tom Riddle and evil Voldemort, to someone new, someone Harry shared his life with, someone Harry had come to care about even, if he was honest with himself. 

Yes, he still knew this was Voldemort, a man capable of evil deeds, but when you had spent so many years sharing your life with someone, many passionate nights in their bed, many mornings of playful bickering over breakfast, many glorious moments of uncovering ancient and powerful magic together, it was hard not to care about him.

Harry leaned his head up and placed a gentle kiss against Voldemort's lips. Voldemort answered it with a smile and a trail of kisses that led down to the sensitive spot right below Harry's ear. 

Yes, if Harry were honest with himself, he knew he cared about his lover, his companion, his friend, and when he'd come down with the dragon pox, at first he'd thought that Voldemort's dramatic response was proof that perhaps Voldemort cared about him, too. Of course, then Voldemort ruined everything by prattling on and on about that bloody horcrux, and Harry once again was reminded about where exactly he stood in Voldemort's life. And that disappointment, that pain, had perhaps been as much a reason for their epic fight as his refusal to make a horcrux of his own, though he'd never admit that to anyone. 

"I see you two have finally decided to kiss and make up. About bloody time."

Both Harry and Voldemort glanced at the doorway, where Snape stood with his arms crossed, leaning casually against the doorpost, one eyebrow curved.

And then there was Snape, or Severus, as Harry had started calling him some years ago when he'd realized that, yes, Merlin forbid, he really did care about Snape. And he knew Snape cared about him, too, though they never spoke about feelings or affection. But Harry knew because of the way their relationship had changed over the years, from Snape treating him as a dunderhead to treating him as an equal. He knew from the way Snape stood up for him whenever Voldemort made unreasonable demands. He knew from the many small gestures and words of praise Snape offered him whenever he was pleased with something Harry had done. He knew from the way Snape had never left his bedside when he'd been ill, how he'd spent night after night holding Harry's hand, wiping his fevered brow with a damp washcloth, and murmuring soft words in Harry's ear that sounded like insults but were nothing more than Snape's own fears over losing Harry given voice. And he knew from the way Snape had welcomed Harry's involvement in his potions lab, where they'd spent many an afternoon trading playful insults and jabs, and where Harry, thanks to Snape's growing patience with him, had learned a great deal about the art of potions making. 

Yes, even though they never said it, or even hinted at it, Harry knew he cared about Snape and Snape cared about him. 

Harry detangled himself from Voldemort until they were both sitting up, and then he patted the couch beside him. Snape's steps were confident, but at once Harry spotted the bulge in Snape's black trousers. Had Snape been watching them? That thought sent a new surge of arousal through Harry. He'd realized over the years that voyeurism was a definite kink of his, and thankfully, also of his lovers. 

As Snape lowered himself to the couch, Harry glanced at Voldemort, who was staring at them both with a heated gleam in his hazel eyes. It made Harry smile.

"I never thanked you for coming up with such a brilliant plan," Harry said as he trailed one finger down Snape's leg. 

Snape outwardly appeared unconcerned, but the dilation of his pupils plus the bulge in his trousers gave him away. "Did you expect anything less of me, Mr Potter?" Snape used his best classroom voice, and over the years that voice had started having a most peculiar effect on Harry. It always made him want to beg and plead and offer up his arse to Snape, no matter where they were. 

Voldemort chuckled; he knew the effect his lovers had on each other as well. 

"I just thought you've deserved a reward, Professor," Harry whispered as he lowered himself to the floor. Snape inhaled a sharp breath and spread his thighs as Harry crawled between them. It had been three months for him, too, Harry realized with a grin as he pulled down Snape's zipper. He quickly freed Snape's pulsing erection and sucked it into his mouth. 

Moaning, Snape leaned his head back against the couch, one hand tangled in Harry's hair, gently urging him down further. Harry glanced from Snape to Voldemort, who was staring at them with a satisfied smile. Hollowing his cheeks and sucking deeper and deeper, Harry squeezed his fingers around the base of Snape's cock and pumped him hard. 

It wouldn't take long, not after three months without intimacy, just like Harry hadn't been able to last only moments before. 

Snape pushed Harry's head down, his thighs tensing, and climaxed with a groan, spurting hot strings of come inside Harry's mouth. Harry swallowed everything, and licked around the head of Snape's prick while Snape looked down at him with a rather blissful expression; his black eyes were hooded, his hooked nose slightly wrinkled, and his moist lips were parted. 

Harry grinned up at him, tucked Snape's spent prick away, and crawled into his lap. Snape pulled Harry closer for a kiss, and Harry deepened it at once. He'd missed this. He'd missed the intimacy between him and Snape, and him and Voldemort, and between the three of them. And he knew without a doubt that even though their odd relationship had been born out of necessity, perhaps even desperation, Harry wouldn't change it for the world. 

After a few minutes of deep kisses, Harry pulled back from Snape and flopped down onto the couch between his lovers. Harry released a satisfied sigh, Voldemort wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and pulled him close, and Snape rested his hand on Harry's thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

There was no need for words. Their problems had been resolved, and they could go back to how things had been before. Except for that pesky little problem of returning to Britain, but Harry chose not to think of that right then. He didn't want to ruin their fragile truce yet again. 

They watched the remainder of _The Shawshank Redemption_. Voldemort summoned three bottles of Heineken from the kitchen, and they passed the bag of crisps around.

It wasn't until the movie was over and Harry reached for the remote control to shut off the TV that Snape spoke. "I assume you'll be joining us in our bed again tonight?"

Harry pretended to think about that for a while, frowning as he tapped a finger against his lips. Voldemort snickered and Snape shook his head, though his lips curled up just a bit. 

"Yeah," Harry said with a huge grin. "This couch is bloody uncomfortable. My back's been killing me for days. Perhaps you should both give me a massage later."

Voldemort ran his hand down Harry's back. "I don't think our Harry deserves a massage. Do you, Severus?"

Snape sneered down at Harry. "I agree. Stubbornness shouldn't be rewarded."

And despite his lovers' refusal, Harry couldn't help but laugh. This was familiar, this teasing and playful attempts at dominance. And he knew that no matter what they'd end up doing later that day, he'd enjoy it. His lovers always made sure of that. 

Voldemort got up from the couch, stretching as he did so. "Time for supper. Angelo's tonight?"

"Yes!" Harry jumped up at once. He'd missed their dinner dates, not only for the companionship, but also for all the great food he'd been missing out on for the last couple of months. "Pizza!"

Voldemort gave Harry a tired look, while Snape sighed and collected the empty beer bottles. 

Harry smiled. Yep, everything was back to normal at last.

\------

"Meester Joe, Meester Harry, Meester Sef'ruus! Buonasera!"

"Hey Angelo," Harry said happily as the portly owner of their favourite restaurant waved them inside. 

"Angelo," Voldemort said with a curt nod, and allowed Angelo to grab his elbow and steer them towards a table by the window. 

"Where you have been?" Angelo asked as he pulled out chairs for them. "I think you no like my food no more." Angelo managed a crestfallen expression that made Harry snicker and Snape roll his eyes. 

Voldemort looked up at Angelo with a polite smile. "You needn't worry about your culinary skills, Angelo. We were just busy for a while."

"Good, good." Angelo patted Voldemort on his shoulder. "I make you something special, yes? I make you the chicken with the pesto and the mushrooms with the pasta."

"Sounds delightful," Voldemort said, which earned him a wide grin from Angelo.

"I'd like a pizza napoletana," Harry said, and endured Angelo's frown. 

"Meester Harry, you always wanting the pizza." He shook his head in obvious disproval. "But I will make you the pizza. I will make you the best pizza in these city!"

Snape cleared his throat; after all these years he still had no patience for such frivolous behaviour from anyone. "I'd like the lasagne with eggplant and parmesan."

"Good, good!" Angelo turned around. "Anita!" he yelled at his wife behind the bar. "The wine for our guests. Pronto!"

And as they waited for their food, they sipped their red wine and Harry just enjoyed being out with his lovers again. That was, until Snape cast a discreet silencing spell and said, "We need to discuss our plans for our return to Britain."

Harry sighed while Voldemort looked at Snape with a thoughtful frown. 

"Since this is your plan, Severus, I take it you've already given it some thought?"

Snape sipped his wine and nodded. "I've made a few inquiries. As it turns out, Hogwarts is in need of a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Harry gasped and stared at Snape with wide eyes. He couldn't be thinking --

"That would be a perfect cover, if I were to accept that position," Voldemort said with a most satisfied smile. And much to Harry's amazement, Snape nodded his agreement. 

"No," Harry said, putting his glass of wine down promptly. "You can't be serious. You can't go to Hogwarts."

"Why ever not?" Voldemort curved his eyebrow in a silent dare. 

Harry sputtered. "Remember what happened the last time you were there?" He didn't dare say Ginny's name, not after so long, but the image of Ginny's dead body flashed through his mind all the same. 

"Things are different now, Harry." Voldemort patted Harry's arm in a rather condescending way. "Lord Voldemort has been dead for ten years. No one would expect his return. Joseph Taylor is an established name and a respected scholar. I doubt anyone would make the connection, even if I seemed somewhat familiar to them."

"Harry, it's either this, or a return to your domestic dispute with your boyfriend," Snape said, ignoring Voldemort's snort. 

Harry frowned. Snape was right, dammit, and Harry hated it. Voldemort insisted on Harry's immortality, and after his recent brush with death, Harry had to admit it would be nice to not have to worry about things like catching a near fatal disease anymore in the future. But he refused to make a horcrux -- he would not even consider pulling a part of his soul from his body, no matter his soul was already split thanks to one killing curse which didn't even have the desired results. Creating a Philosopher's Stone was the only way, he knew that, but the idea of Voldemort becoming a Hogwarts professor sent chills down his spine. 

He glared at Voldemort. "You have to promise -- "

"Harry," Voldemort interrupted him, his voice as smooth as soft butter. "Have I not behaved myself this past decade?"

"Yes," Harry grumbled, and downed half his wine. "But no killing! If we run into trouble, you let me and Snape handle it, or I will..." He trailed off, unable to come up with a good threat. Voldemort knew Harry would never kill himself and since that was the only thing Harry had to dangle over Voldemort's head, uttering threats was useless. 

Voldemort seemed entirely too amused with the situation. "I promise to behave myself. Cross my heart." And he trailed a finger down his chest in a mockery of a promise. 

Harry sighed again and looked at Snape. "If something happens -- "

"We will keep our dragon under control," Snape said with a pointed look. "As the situation stands at this time, any unwanted discoveries by anyone can easily be fixed by a few memory charms."

"All right," Harry said, leaning back in his chair. Angelo appeared with their food, and while it was as excellent as ever, Harry's previous cheer at their little reunion was now replaced with a cold feeling of dread.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry and Snape sat side by side on the steps of the Temple of Jupiter (or what was left of it). Voldemort had wanted to spend one more day at the ruins of Pompeii, and Harry and Snape had joined him. But Voldemort had been busy deciphering mosaics in the magically hidden room he'd discovered in The House of the Faun, one of the most impressive private residences in Pompeii, and which, as Voldemort had learned, had been occupied by wizards at the time of Vesuvius' eruption in 79 AD.

And even though Harry found the research interesting, he hadn't wanted to remain cooped up in a dark room all day. So he and Snape decided to take a walk around Pompeii and enjoy the warm Italian sun while they still could. 

"You seem awfully calm about all this." Harry glanced at Snape, who appeared preoccupied with staring at the volcano in the distance. 

It took a few minutes, but then Snape replied. "He was right about one thing. You almost died."

Harry huffed. "It was just dragon pox."

"Half the wizards who are allergic to the cure die from it, Potter," Snape snarled, and Harry widened his eyes in surprise. He hadn't known that. Snape inhaled a deep breath. "So whatever the risks inherent to this new mission, they are worth it."

Harry swallowed against something in his throat. Snape really had been worried about him, apparently, and didn't want him to die.

"All right," Harry sighed. "But you do understand why I don't want to make a horcrux, right? I mean, if I did that, we could blow off this whole trip to Britain, but I really don't want to do it."

Snape gave him a look, one where he curved one eyebrow and almost sneered. Harry smiled in response. He knew Snape understood him perfectly. 

"We need only stay for as long as it takes to find all the research." Snape looked down at his shoes, his black hair obscuring his face. "And he has been decent for the last decade. I don't expect any problems, but should they arise, we'll deal with them."

"Yep." Harry opened his bottle of water and took a long swig. He offered it to Snape, who accepted it. "Get the research and get out." 

Snape hummed in agreement. 

"It's strange," Harry said, more to himself than to Snape. "To go back with him. As a person, I mean. Before, he was stuck in my head, mostly."

Chuckling, Snape sipped the water bottle and gave it back to Harry. 

"Now, I can think anything I want. Do anything I want. I couldn't do that back then." Harry bit his lip for a second. "I could even tell people about him. I can't kill him myself thanks to our vow, but others could."

Snapping his head to the side, Snape glared at him. "No, others cannot kill him, either, as you well know! So whatever Gryffindorish foolishness you're contemplating, Potter...don't." Snape curled his hand around Harry's arm and squeezed. "Don't even think about it. There is nothing you can do about the situation without --"

"I know," Harry whispered. Without his own death. He was a horcrux, after all. They'd had this conversation before on very few occasions. Snape was right; Harry's Gryffindor side sometimes urged him to take action against the man who'd killed his parents, who'd killed Ginny, and so many countless others. But they couldn't kill him without killing Harry himself first. It was a familiar circle of thoughts, that always started and ended the same; there was nothing they could do to change the situation. 

And if Harry was completely honest with himself, he didn't want to see Voldemort dead. Well, perhaps he wanted to see Voldemort as he'd once been dead, but not this man Harry had spent over a decade with. He wasn't Voldemort anymore. Not really. 

"I'd think you'd be pleased with this upcoming trip," Snape said, pulling Harry from his thoughts. "You'll be able to see your friends again."

"Yeah." Harry nodded. He had kept in touch with Ron and Hermione over the years and he was looking forward to seeing them again. "It's going to be strange, though. They're married with two babies. And I'm...a writer shagging his two former enemies."

Snape bumped his shoulder against Harry just a little bit too hard. "I'm flattered, Potter."

"Stop calling me that." Harry snickered and pushed back against Snape. 

"Or perhaps I should take points from you and assign a detention or two." That voice again, and Harry shivered, but not in an unpleasant way. He wanted to push Snape back against the ancient stones and have his wicked way with him, but there were tourists about, so that would have to wait until later. 

"I can't even leave you two alone for an hour."

Harry looked up at that familiar voice, and saw Voldemort strolling towards them through a throng of tourists, a bag slung over his shoulder, his slippers flapping against the stones. Harry smiled at him.

"I was merely trying to teach Mr Potter some manners," Snape said with a smirk, and Harry kicked him against his shin. "But as usual, the boy proves he's beyond understanding such simple concepts."

Harry wanted to strangle Snape. Now he had a raging erection and no way to take care of it. 

Voldemort sank down on the steps beside Harry and glanced at Harry's crotch. "Sometimes you are so predictable, my little horcrux."

"Only sometimes?" Snape wondered, and Harry sighed. He stood no chance once his lovers teamed up against him and he knew it. As did they.

\-----

It was extremely strange to stand in his bedroom in Grimmauld Place. They had taken an early Portkey from Naples to London, and now Harry was back in his old bedroom. He'd never considered selling Grimmauld Place over the years, even though he'd never expected to return there either. And thanks to the wards Harry and Voldemort had placed on the house when Voldemort had still been living inside Harry's head, no one else had been able to get in there over the years.

The room looked exactly as Harry remembered it. The bed even held the rumpled sheets that had been on there when Voldemort had fucked Harry for the first time, right after he'd got his new and improved body. And the wardrobe was opened, where Voldemort had admired himself in the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door. 

Harry stared at his own reflection. He no longer wore glasses, having had his eyes permanently corrected a few years before, after he'd lost his glasses while they were camping in the Himalayas and they'd found themselves in an unexpected snowstorm. He hadn't enjoyed being blind as a bat while Snape and Voldemort hurriedly set up their tent to seek shelter. His hair was a little longer, too, and stubble covered his chin and jaw, since he hadn't felt like shaving that morning. God, when he'd last been in this room, he'd hardly needed to shave more than once a week. It seemed like a lifetime ago. 

A reflection joined Harry's in the mirror, and Harry smiled as Voldemort walked up behind him and slid his arms around Harry's waist. 

"Oh, my little horcrux, I remember this mirror well," Voldemort whispered and licked at Harry's earlobe.

"Yeah," Harry said weakly. He remembered their games in front of the mirror, too. As did his prick. Voldemort chuckled quietly in his ear and Harry tilted his head up. Voldemort pressed a kiss to Harry's scar. When he'd first done that years ago, it had freaked Harry out, but he didn't really care anymore these days. One could get used to just about anything, as Harry had learned. 

"I suggest we clean this dump at once, lest one of us comes down with miner's lung." Snape stood in the doorway with his arms crossed, and scowled as he looked around Harry's old room. 

"I believe you have a point, Severus." Voldemort pulled back from Harry. "Work first, play later." And with a firm pat to Harry's butt he strolled out the room. 

Harry sighed. Some things really had been easier when Voldemort had still been stuck in his head. He adjusted himself in his jeans, ignored Snape's bemused expression, and got ready to do some cleaning.

\-----

The main parts of the house were clean. While no one had entered it for a decade, dust had gathered in thick layers on everything, and it had taken them most of the day to make the house liveable again. Snape had stepped out to get them some groceries, and later Harry had got them a few curries for supper, and now they were taking turns in the shower to wash away the grime.

Snape was shampooing his hair under the spray, while Voldemort dried off with a freshly laundered towel. Harry stood in front of the mirror and concentrated on shaving. He preferred using a Muggle razor instead of charms, and he pulled at his jaw as he moved the blade across his skin. 

The doorbell rang, and Harry nicked his chin. Cursing softly, he glanced at Voldemort, who shrugged and strode into the bedroom. 

"I'll see who it is," Voldemort said as he pulled on a pair of black trousers. He threw a t-shirt over his head, stepped into his slippers and stalked out of the bedroom. 

Snape turned off the shower, just as Harry heard Voldemort opening the front door downstairs. 

"May I help you?" Voldemort sounded polite enough, even a bit amused.

"Oh, hello. We're looking for Harry Potter."

Harry's eyes widened as he stared at himself in the mirror. 

"I'm afraid Harry's still in the shower. Who may I say is calling?" 

"Sorry. I'm Hermione Granger-Weasley, and this is my husband Ron."

"Ah, you're Harry's friends. He's mentioned you before. Please, do come in."

Harry found it hard to breathe and he looked desperately at Snape. 

"Relax," Snape whispered in his ear. "He's not going to hurt them. They're just here to visit. He knows that."

Nodding, Harry swallowed. 

"And who are you? I thought Harry was still with Snape?" Hermione asked as Harry heard them move through the downstairs hallway. 

"I'm Joseph Taylor. I'm a good friend of Harry and Severus."

Hermione let out a short shriek. "Oh my god! You're Mr Taylor...oh, I've read all your books. Your work on transitory soul transfiguration is just amazing. I'm so pleased to meet you."

"And it's lovely to meet you, Ms Granger-Weasley."

"Please, call me Hermione."

Harry couldn't hear the rest of the conversation, as they'd moved into the drawing room. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought the urge to bang his head against the wall. What was he thinking? Why had he ever agreed to bring Voldemort here?

"I'll go and make sure he behaves himself." Snape pressed a kiss to Harry's throat and walked inside the bedroom. Harry rinsed off his razor, and then had to take a couple of deep breaths to stop his hands trembling as he finished shaving. 

He got dressed in his usual attire of a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and then hurried down the stairs. When he entered the drawing room he was met with a most surreal display. 

Snape was seated on the couch beside a small red-haired girl. On the girl's other side sat Ron, who looked up at him with a huge grin. Beside the sofa stood Hermione, her hair in a ponytail, talking animatedly with Voldemort, who was holding a baby. Voldemort smiled down at the little boy and tickled his chin. 

Harry's mouth sank open, but before he could say anything he suddenly found himself with an armful of Hermione. 

"Harry!" She squeezed him hard and pressed a big kiss against his cheek. "It's so good to see you again!"

Ron was next, though his hug was shorter and involved lots of backslapping. "Hey mate. Took you long enough to remember to visit."

"Hey," Harry managed to say, overwhelmed with feelings of both dread and excitement at seeing his best friends again after so long. 

"And this is little Hugo," Voldemort said, holding up the baby for Harry to see. "Say hello to your uncle Harry, Hugo." And Voldemort gently grabbed one of the baby's arms and made it wave.

Hermione giggled and clapped her hand over her mouth. 

On the couch, the little girl was trying to climb into Snape's lap, who looked far less impressed with the entire situation and scowled at the girl in an obvious attempt to stop her. But the girl had inherited her parents' courage and wasn't that easily cowed. 

"No, Rose," Ron said, and picked up the girl before Snape could hex her. "Come meet Harry."

"Hello, Rose," Harry said and shook Rose's small hand, after which she buried her face in Ron's neck and giggled for a whole minute. 

"Harry, some tea for our guests?" Voldemort said as he motioned Hermione to the opposite couch. 

"I'll help you." Ron sat his daughter down beside Hermione. Harry cast Snape a meaningful look, which Snape returned with a sneer, and then he made his way down to the basement kitchen, Ron on his heels. 

"I can't believe you're still with Snape," Ron said as Harry got the kettle boiling and levitated cups and saucers onto a tray. "I mean, we all thought it was just a thing, you know...after the war, you seemed a little traumatized or something."

Harry snickered. God, if Ron only knew. "It started out as a thing, I guess, but now...now it's the real thing."

"Ah." Ron leaned back against the kitchen counter while Harry got the teabags steeping. "And this other bloke? He might not be right for you? Seems handsome enough, and Hermione says he's brilliant. Seems nicer than Snape, too."

Shaking his head, Harry looked up at his best friend. He'd told Hermione and Ron about his friendship with Joseph Taylor over the years, but he'd never gone into any intimate details. It was none of their business. As far as they knew, Harry and Snape were in a relationship and Joseph was just their friend. 

"Ron. Do you really want to know about all the things I get up to in my bedroom?" Harry asked, and winked at Ron. He laughed as Ron's cheeks paled. 

"You mean, three blokes? How does that even work?"

"I'm sure they have books about that. Ask Hermione." Harry snatched a box of chocolate biscuits from the pantry shelf and carried the tray up the stairs, a befuddled Ron trailing behind. 

"How did you even know I was here?" Harry asked Hermione as he served out the tea. He'd written his friends a letter via Muggle post, as he'd always done over the years, and he'd told them he was planning on visiting, but he hadn't given them a date. 

"Mate, it was in the evening edition of The Prophet," Ron said as he added two lumps of sugar to his tea. "Someone recognized you at the Portkey station apparently. Was a big headline about the lost son returning home."

Harry rubbed his forehead. He'd spent a decade without any headlines, and he was back in Britain for one day and he was already in the paper. Some things never changed. Snape snorted beside him, and Voldemort, who sat on Harry's other side, patted his knee in mock-sympathy. 

Hermione shifted little Hugo in her arms. "Oh, come on, Harry. You're a celebrity, whether you like it or not. You killed Voldemort, and you're a best-selling author. You can't expect people not to notice you."

Extremely happy Voldemort had already handed the baby back to Hermione, Harry glanced at him, but Voldemort seemed only mildly amused by Hermione's remarks.

Ron and Hermione spent a good hour talking about their lives and their children and what the rest of the Weasley family had been up to. Harry knew most of it already, thanks to their steady correspondence, but it was nice to actually talk to his friends again. 

By the time the tea had been replaced with a few glasses of wine, they were on the subject of their Hogwarts years. Thankfully, they stuck to pleasant memories, and there was no mention of Ginny's unusual disappearance or the war.

"I always suspected you were gay, Harry," Hermione said at one point, and Harry looked at her with wide eyes. He himself hadn't known he liked blokes that way until Voldemort had shown him. "Remember the Yule Ball? Really, the way you went about looking for a date, and how you treated poor Parvati...I suspected something was up with you."

"Do tell," Voldemort said, while Harry snickered into his glass of wine. Yeah, the Yule Ball had been a fiasco. He couldn't argue with that. And as Hermione told the story of Harry's disastrous attempts to get a date, Harry laughed just as loudly as Voldemort, and even Snape came close to smiling. 

"And I wasn't surprised you ended up with Snape," Hermione said with a fond smile. "I mean, the way you fawned over the Half-Blood Prince's book in your sixth year, Harry, I always suspected you had a huge crush on him."

Harry choked on his wine, while Snape turned to stare at him and Voldemort threw his head back laughing. "I didn't -- "

"He's never told you about that?" Hermione asked Snape, who looked from Harry to Hermione with a rather astonished expression on his face. 

"No, I can't say he's ever mentioned that before," Snape said in a silky-smooth voice, and Harry knew he'd be hearing about that for months to come. 

"I wasn't -- I mean, yeah, I liked that book, but I didn't have a crush on him. Seriously." Harry gave Hermione an urgent look. 

"Oh, don't be silly, you seemed almost possessed. The way you carried that book around and were always going on about the Prince this and the Prince that." Hermione leaned closer to Snape from across the coffee table. "A huge crush. I mean it."

"I see." Snape looked Harry up and down and curved an eyebrow. "It seems that Harry has been keeping things from me."

"No, I haven't." Harry poked Snape in the ribs with his elbow. "Back then, I liked that book. Not you."

Ron cleared his throat. He'd been laughing along with everyone else, but Harry knew that the idea of him and Snape still freaked him out, so he wasn't surprised when Ron changed the subject. "So why did you come back now, Harry? Are you planning to stay?" He stroked Rose's hair, who was lying in his lap fast asleep. 

"Ah, I believe that is my fault," Voldemort said. "I heard there was a position open at Hogwarts. Harry and Severus kindly offered to show me around there, as I haven't been to Hogwarts before."

It was part of the carefully constructed identity they had come up with for Voldemort once he was ready to publish some of the research he'd done. Joseph Taylor was a half-blood wizard, raised by his parents and home-schooled in magic. It had been impossible to come up with a background for him that involved any kind of formal training, as such facts could easily be disputed by anyone who cared to do a little investigation. 

"That's right," Hermione said. "Neville told us they were looking for a new Defence against the Dark Arts teacher. Have you spoken to Headmaster Croaker yet?"

"Who?" Harry hadn't been keeping track of all the goings-on at Hogwarts over the years. 

"Casimir Croaker," Hermione said with a patient smile. "He was the Defence against the Dark Arts professor for a few years, until McGonagall's retirement. Then he became headmaster."

Harry stared at her blankly, and Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, you've even seen him before. At the Quidditch World Cup. Arthur pointed him out to us. He used to work at the Department of Mysteries." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "He was an Unspeakable before he quit his job and became a teacher."

"Ah." Harry glanced Snape, but Snape's rather stoic expression told him this wasn't news to Snape. 

"We will meet him tomorrow, when we'll go to Hogwarts," Voldemort said, and he seemed entirely unconcerned by this development. 

"Well, I hope you'll get the position," Hermione said. "I'm sure you'll be a brilliant teacher. If I remember what utter imbeciles we've had for Defence Against the Dark Arts over the years..." Hermione flushed when Snape arched a daring eyebrow. "I meant types such as Lockhart and Umbridge. Not you. Sir."

"I'm sure you didn't, Ms Granger," Snape said in his classroom voice. Harry shifted restlessly. Bloody Snape and that voice. 

"Yeah, or Quirrell," Ron said, warming up to the subject. "He had Voldemort stuck to his head."

Harry bit his lip.

"Remember that, Harry? We should have realized back then that Voldemort wasn't all that impressive. He got his arse handed to him by a couple of first-years."

Harry shot up from the couch. "More wine?" And as he reached for the wine bottle he conveniently positioned himself between Voldemort and his friends. He heard a quiet chuckle behind him, and when he realized it was Voldemort, he relaxed. Just a bit. 

"No, we should get going." Hermione got up from the couch. "We have work tomorrow. Here, Harry, you hold Hugo for a bit while I visit the toilet."

And just like that, Harry had an armful of a little baby boy. He sank back down on the couch and stared at the inquisitive blue eyes which seemed to be taking in every detail of Harry's face. Carefully, he stroked a few fingers over Hugo's red hair and down his soft cheek. And he couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if Voldemort hadn't survived. What would have happened if he'd actually killed Voldemort all those years ago. He'd probably have married Ginny, or some other girl. He might even have had a family of his own by now. A pang, sharp and stinging, shot through his chest as he touched a finger to Hugo's tiny hand. 

"Harry?"

It took Harry a few moments before he realized someone was calling his name. He looked up and smiled at Hermione, whose expression softened at once. 

"We're always looking for more babysitters," Hermione said and held out her arms. 

Harry gently placed Hugo in his mother's embrace. "He's beautiful," he whispered, and then had to clear his throat. He glanced around. Snape's expression was unreadable, but Voldemort was looking at him curiously, as if he couldn't quite figure out what had just happened. 

"I'll walk you to the door." Harry motioned his friends towards the hallway. 

"You've got to stop by the Burrow this weekend," Ron said, as he lifted a still sleeping Rose into his arms. "Mum's not going to forgive you if you're in the country and you won't stop by at least once."

Harry swallowed and glanced at Snape. Seeing his friends was one thing, but seeing Mr and Mrs Weasley was something else completely after what had happened to their only daughter. 

"We'll try to make time," Snape said reasonably. "We may have other work-related commitments this weekend, but we'll let you know."

Ron nodded his understanding, and Harry wanted to kiss Snape right there and then, he was so grateful for his intervention. 

Harry waved his friends goodbye and once he closed the front door he leaned his forehead against it. Even though everything had gone well, and no one had died, Harry was suddenly exhausted. 

A hand touched his shoulder, and when Harry looked up he saw Snape standing beside him. 

"Time for bed," Snape said, and Harry nodded at once. 

As they got ready for bed, Harry expected teasing about his supposed crush on Snape in his sixth year, but nothing happened. Snape kept quiet, busying himself with his ablutions, and Voldemort seemed keen on observing Harry closely, as though there was something about Harry he needed to figure out.

They crawled into bed, Harry in the middle like he always did, and turned off the lights, and Harry was surprised when his thoughts drifted back to the feeling of little Hugo in his arms. He'd never before consciously contemplated having children, which wasn't so strange considering that Harry had never even held a baby before. But now, for some reason, he couldn't stop thinking about it. 

Voldemort's breathing deepened, and Snape lay still beside him, but sleep eluded Harry. He'd known that when he'd made his deal with Voldemort, he'd have to give up certain things. Britain, his friends, parts of his freedom. But he hadn't, at the time, realized what else he'd have to give up, and now it suddenly seemed crystal clear to him. He'd given up his future, and never before in all those ten years, had that realization hit him as hard or as painful as it did now. 

Harry heaved a deep, shuddering breath, and much to his surprise he felt a hand touch his own under the blankets. He squeezed his eyes shut and rolled onto his side and buried his face against Snape's chest. 

Snape said nothing, and just wrapped his arm around Harry and pulled him even closer. There was no need for words. As Harry had learned over the years, usually Snape understood him perfectly.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Harry woke up first, and even though his dreams had been fitful his mood was improved. He crawled out of bed, careful not to wake his lovers, went in search for his pyjama bottoms and his dressing gown since they always slept in the nude, and then made his way down to the kitchen. 

He got the dishes from the previous night going with a spell, put the kettle on, and got the table ready for breakfast. He made toast, got some bacon frying and when he was ready to scramble some eggs, Voldemort and Snape walked into the kitchen. 

Voldemort poured them all a cup of tea while Snape divided the toast and bacon between their plates.

"Who's the owl for?" Voldemort asked as he sat down at the table. 

Harry looked up from the stove. "What owl?"

Rolling his eyes, Snape pointed his finger at the window, where an eagle owl sat waiting patiently, a scroll tied to its leg.

"Ah." Harry opened the window and let the owl inside. He hadn't noticed it before and ignored Voldemort's amused snort. The owl hopped up on the back of a chair and held its leg out to Harry, who looked at the scroll in puzzlement as he untied it. 

"It's from Hogwarts," he mumbled, offering the owl half a strip of bacon. The owl accepted and flew out the window. Harry unrolled the scroll and read out loud. 

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_It has come to our attention that you have returned to Britain after your many years of travelling abroad. It is therefore my pleasure to offer you the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts professor for the upcoming school year, starting September 1st._

_With your skills and experience it is our belief you will be perfect for the job. Please come to Hogwarts today at noon so we may discuss your employment in further detail._

_Most sincerely,_

_Casimir Croaker  
Headmaster of Hogwarts_

 

Harry lowered the letter, and stared at Voldemort and Snape in bewilderment. Snape threw his head back and laughed, but Voldemort's expression was rather pinched. 

"You're not going to accept that," Voldemort said, and it sounded more like an order than a request. 

"Of course not," Harry mumbled. He had no desire to teach, especially not at Hogwarts.

Snape, who'd taken over scrambling the eggs from Harry, carried the skillet to the table. "Well, now at least we have an official appointment with Croaker."

"You will decline his offer, and I will offer my services instead." Voldemort glared at Harry, and Harry rolled his eyes and then nodded. 

Crumbling the letter up into a ball, Harry sat down at the table. "We'll stick to the plan."

"See that you do." Voldemort gave Harry one last glare and started on his breakfast. Harry exchanged an amused glance with Snape and then quickly hid his smile with a bite of bacon. 

After breakfast they made their way upstairs to get dressed.

"Now that we'll be meeting the new Headmaster in his office, there is still the matter of the portraits," Snape said as he sat on the edge of the bed and tied his shoes. 

"Hmm." Voldemort turned towards his trunk and opened it. He took out a small velvet pouch and rummaged for a moment until he fished out a golden chain which held a small golden dragon with emerald eyes. Harry smiled at the sight. He'd given it to Voldemort as a birthday present a few years ago, and it always warmed his insides when Voldemort wore it.

"A Confundus Charm specifically aimed at the magic of portraits should do the trick," Voldemort mused as he placed the necklace on the desk and took out his wand. He tapped the tip to his lips a few times and then swished it, muttering a few things. He paused for another few seconds, and then flicked his wand and murmured another spell. "There, that should do it." Voldemort looked extremely pleased with himself and offered the necklace to Harry. "If you'll do the honours, my little horcrux."

Harry stepped up behind Voldemort and wound the necklace around his neck, clasping it shut in the back. "There. Now you're ready for your new job. Professor." He quickly ducked into the bathroom to avoid Voldemort's smack to his arse. He ran a brush through his hair and put on some cologne, some expensive Muggle brand Snape had got him for Christmas last year. As he stepped back into the bedroom something occurred to him. "We've got this plan and all...but what if Croaker doesn't go along with it? What if he refuses you, Tom?"

Voldemort shrugged. "We'll use an Imperius, of course."

Harry gaped at him while Snape chuckled. Honestly. He should be used to such suggestions by now, he told himself as he followed his lovers out of the bedroom.

\-----

The sight of Hogwarts castle looming in the distance did peculiar things to Harry. Simultaneously, his heart soared while his stomach sank.

They'd apparated to Hogsmeade, since they had plenty of time before their appointment with the new Headmaster, and now they strolled through the fields around Hogsmeade, up the winding path that led to the castle. 

At one point, Harry stopped and stared at a hill in the distance. Voldemort joined him, and while neither spoke a word, Harry knew Voldemort was thinking of the same thing he was. That was the hill where Harry and Voldemort had met so many years ago, where Harry had cast the killing curse that split his soul and failed to kill Voldemort, who'd then taken up residence in Harry's mind. 

Harry swallowed just as Snape said, "Let's not keep Croaker waiting." Snape's expression was blank, but his black eyes gleamed as he looked from Harry to Voldemort and back. Harry followed Snape down the path, Voldemort bringing up the rear. 

As they neared the gates, and Harry spotted a cottage in the distance near the edge of the forest, he stopped dead in his tracks. "What about Hagrid?" He looked between Snape and Voldemort, panic burning in his chest. "He went to school with you, Tom. He'll recognize you."

Snape patted his shoulder. "Hagrid retired five years ago, right after McGonagall. He's taken that brother of his, the giant, and they're now living in Russia, I believe."

"Oh." Harry shook his head. He really hadn't been keeping up with all the news about his friends. It had been easier that way, to cut himself off almost completely when he'd made his new life abroad, but now he felt rather lost. A Hogwarts without Hagrid somehow didn't seem like Hogwarts at all. 

"Harry?"

Shaking himself from his morose thoughts, Harry looked up and saw a man running their way. The man's steps faltered for a moment as he spotted Snape, but then the man seemed to square his shoulders and continued his approach with confident strides. 

"Neville?" Harry said in astonishment as he recognized the man at last. The last ten years had been good to Neville. Gone was the slightly chubby teenager Harry remembered. Neville was tall and lean and slightly tanned, and he gave Harry a brilliant smile right before he wrapped his arms around Harry in a tight hug. 

"It's been too long." Neville pulled back and slapped Harry on his arm in a friendly gesture. 

"Yeah, good to see you," Harry managed to say as he looked Neville up and down. Yes, the years definitely had been very good to Neville, Harry thought much to his own embarrassment. 

"Mr Longbottom," Snape drawled, and Neville swallowed visibly before he righted himself and stuck out his hand. 

"Professor Snape," Neville said curtly, and for all of three seconds Snape stared at the outstretched hand as though Neville was offering him fresh hippogriff dung. Then he sighed, glanced at Harry, and shook Neville's hand with a rather pained expression on his face. Harry hid his grin by pretending to study his own shoes. 

"So you're going to be my new colleague, Harry?" Neville asked, and he sounded slightly out of breath. "Casimir told me he'd offered you the Defence Against the Dark Arts position."

"Er..." Harry said, just as Voldemort cleared his throat beside Harry. "Oh, Neville, meet Joseph Taylor, a good friend of mine."

Voldemort shook Neville's hand, and while he looked perfectly polite doing it, Harry could tell by his tense shoulders Voldemort was anything but pleased by Neville's remarks.

"We should get going," Harry said in an attempt to defuse the situation. 

"I'll walk you to the Headmaster's office," Neville said jovially, and thus for the next ten minutes Harry was treated to stories of Neville's career as the Herbology professor at Hogwarts. The good thing about this was that Harry had little time to think about anything else and before he knew it, they were standing in front of the gargoyle leading to the Headmaster's office. 

"Howler," Neville told the gargoyle, which moved to the side at once. "See you later, Harry. Good to catch up with you."

"You, too." Harry raised his hand in farewell as Neville took off and disappeared down a corridor. 

"After you, Mr Potter," Snape whispered in his ear, and Harry wanted to kick him and that bloody voice of his. 

They rode the staircase in silence and just when they reached the door to the office, it swung open to reveal a middle-aged man with short hair that was neither blond nor grey. He was about Harry's height and built, though there was some roundness to his waist.

"Mr Potter!" Croaker, or so Harry assumed, grabbed Harry's hand with both of his own and shook it as if his life depended on it. Harry went rigid and only managed a tight smile in response. 

"What a pleasure, what a pleasure indeed!" Croaker released Harry and waved him inside with a grand gesture. "Come in, please!"

Harry shuffled inside and only now did Croaker seem to realize Harry wasn't alone. Croaker gaped up at Snape and Voldemort, who entered the office behind Harry, in bewilderment. 

"Headmaster, please meet my...er...partner, Severus Snape, and our good friend Joseph Taylor."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Croaker said, but didn't offer to shake hands and hardly even acknowledged their presence. Snape arched an eyebrow and shared a rather amused look with Voldemort. 

But Harry had no time for such a light-hearted exchange, because there, on the wall, hung Dumbledore's portrait. Dumbledore's eyes lit up in recognition as he spotted Harry and Snape, and then his eyes glazed over just a bit when he noticed Voldemort. There was no recognition, and Harry exhaled a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders just a bit. Most of the other Headmasters and Headmistresses on the wall seemed fast asleep, including McGonagall, but Harry did note one painting was empty, and it took him a moment to remember it was supposed to be Phineas Nigellus' portrait. 

"Sit down, please." Croaker gestured at a few armchairs. He swished his wand and a tray appeared on the coffee table with tea and scones and little sandwiches. Harry sank down in the middle chair, while Snape and Voldemort seated themselves on either side of him. Croaker served the tea and sat down opposite them. 

"Well, bless my stars," Croaker said as he leaned back in his chair. "Harry Potter, in my office." Croaker looked as though he'd won the lottery and even clapped his hands in obvious satisfaction. And Harry, for the first time, wished he'd just made a bloody horcrux and be done with it instead of going along with Snape's insane plan. 

"The man who killed You Know Who!" Croaker beamed at Harry, and then glanced between Snape and Voldemort. "And haven't you ever wondered how he did it?"

"Repeatedly," Voldemort murmured and sipped his tea. 

Croaker gave a snort of nervous laughter. "So have I. So, Harry, how did you do it?"

"Er..." Harry quickly stuffed one of the small sandwiches in his mouth so he didn't have to answer right away. Croaker looked at Harry expectantly, his pale eyes gleaming. But Harry had no desire to talk about horcruxes with him or with anyone. Very few people knew about them in the first place, and Harry liked it that way just fine. He swallowed his mouthful down and mumbled, "Killing Curse."

"Ah!" Croaker slapped his knee. "And that, Mr Potter, is why you are perfect for the job."

"About that..." Harry started, but Croaker gave him no time to object. 

"I knew the moment I heard you were back, Mr Potter, that you and I were destined to work together. Who else is there to teach our students to defend themselves against the Dark Arts, but the man who defeated the Dark Lord himself."

"Well, actually -- "

"Hogwarts is proud to have you, Harry -- may I call you Harry? -- Hogwarts' own lost son finally returning home where he belongs."

"I don't want the job," Harry snapped, his patience gone at last. He gritted his teeth and then forcibly relaxed his rigid shoulders. 

"No?" Croaker looked as though Harry had just killed his favourite pet. His mouth sank open and his eyes seemed unusually bright all of a sudden. "But -- "

"But my good friend, Joseph Taylor, is very interested in the position," Harry said quickly, gesturing at Voldemort. "And he's more than qualified for the job, believe me."

Croaker glanced from Harry to Voldemort and back. "Yes, I'm familiar with Mr Taylor's work. Most interesting, most interesting indeed. But I believe Mr Taylor never sat his NEWTs, or has received any formal training of any kind, and for this position I must insist -- "

"I never sat my NEWTs," Harry said and leaned back in his chair, a burst of satisfaction warming his insides. "I left Hogwarts before I finished my seventh year."

Swallowing, Croaker seemed to compose himself as he ran his hands down his black robes. "Yes, that may very well be the case, but Harry, you defeated -- "

"And now I'm a writer!" Harry leaned forward in his chair fixing Croaker with his sharpest glare. "I'm no more an expert on Defence Against the Dark Arts than Neville Longbottom is."

"Well..." Croaker shifted in his seat and suddenly diverted his attention to Snape, who had been observing the heated exchange with his usual stoic demeanour. "And Mr Snape. Our former Potions master." Croaker managed a wavering smile and leaned forward in his seat. "Or should I say, our current Potions master."

Snape blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You see, Mr Snape, when you left Hogwarts so unexpectedly a decade ago, our former Headmistress was forced to hire a rather urgent replacement. And while Davey Gudgeon has been a capable teacher, he pales in comparison to you, of course."

Snape sat his cup down on its saucer with a loud clatter. "Gudgeon? That bumbling buffoon of a Gryffindor is the Potions master?"

"Oi," Harry said, offended on behalf of his House. 

"Oh, believe me, Harry, this man is a buffoon. During my days here as a student he tried to sneak past the Whomping Willow and almost lost an eye." Snape looked from Harry back to Croaker, his face a hard mask. 

"Indeed," Croaker agreed happily. "Davey is a kind man, but not the best teacher we've ever had. I would gladly see him replaced if you find yourself agreeable to my offer, Mr Snape."

Harry was baffled and looked at Voldemort in bewilderment. But Voldemort seemed only mildly yet politely interested in the situation. Croaker wanted to sack his current Potions master so he could hire Snape? Because supposedly Snape of all people was a better teacher? Harry frowned. That didn't sit well with him at all. Croaker clearly was up to something, but Harry had no idea what. 

"I might be interested in the position if you consider hiring Mr Taylor as your new DADA teacher," Snape said, and Harry stared at him. That wasn't the bloody plan, now was it? 

Croaker laughed amicably. "Spoken like a true Slytherin, right, Mr Snape?"

Snape inclined his head. 

"I might be able to do that," Croaker continued, and then looked at Harry with a morose expression. "But what of your partner, Mr Snape? Perhaps we could find him another position at Hogwarts, as he seems so adamant to refuse the DADA position. How about assistant flying instructor? I have it on good authority you have excellent flying skills, Harry."

"Er..." Harry looked from Snape to Voldemort, while Croaker stared at him in obvious anticipation. And then Voldemort inclined his head just the tiniest amount, and Harry knew objection was futile. Once Voldemort made up his mind on matter such as this, there was nothing Harry could do about it. "I suppose that would be alright," Harry said and had to make an effort not to sulk. He wasn't a teenager anymore, but still, the current situation made him want to regress to his sixteen-year-old self. 

"Excellent!" Croaker jumped up from his seat and shook their hands one after the other. "Three new staff members. And what staff members they are. This is going to be the best school year yet!"

\-----

After they finalized their arrangements and signed their contracts, Croaker let them go so Harry and Snape could give Joseph Taylor a tour of the castle.

Why Harry had just signed up to become the new assistant flying instructor, he had idea. He looked from Snape to Voldemort and back, but their carefully constructed expressions gave nothing away, and the corridors of Hogwarts weren't secure, so any serious discussion would have to wait until later. 

"This is the entrance hall, as you can see, Joseph," Snape said with a grand gesture.

"Marvellous," Voldemort said, turning on the spot to take in the entire hall. "Simply marvellous. Don't you agree, Harry?"

Scowling, Harry marched off in the opposite direction. He was in no mood for their fun and games. They had come up with a plan, and wouldn't he be damned if that plan hadn't already been turned upside down. The only good thing about Harry's dark mood was that it proved a great distraction, and it was several minutes before Harry even realized that yes, he was actually walking through _Hogwarts_. 

Over the years Hogwarts had taken on the size and shape of an invincible mythological beast in Harry's mind, of something that had conquered him and dealt him a defeat of which he could never recover.

But as Harry looked around the corridors, it all seemed pretty much the same as he remembered. The chandeliers, the portraits, the suits of armour...it was all just as he had known it before. 

Snape and Voldemort followed him some distance away, Snape playing the perfect tour guide and Voldemort ooh-ing and aah-ing as if he hadn't all seen it before. 

Just before Harry reached the Great Hall, a blur of white and silver rushed towards him and before Harry knew what was happening there was a girl attached to him. Harry knew it was a girl right away, because there were breasts pressing against his chest. Also, she smelled like flowers.

"'Arry!" The girl said and pressed a kiss on both his cheeks. "Eet 'as been too long, no?"

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but instead of looking at the girl's face he became instantly distracted with the way her dress was rather low-cut and showed the tops of her plump breasts. Whoever she was, she had a nice pair. 

Even though Harry had spent the last ten years getting in touch with his queer side (and he liked all that came with it plenty, thank you very much), he'd always known he wasn't entirely gay. He still liked girls, and he definitely appreciated certain assets that came with the opposite sex. Like a nice pair of boobs, just like this particular girl had on display. 

"Aren't you going to introduce us to your... _friend_ , Harry?" That was Snape, and he did not sound pleased. Not one bit.

Finally, Harry pulled his attention away from the girl's biggest assets and stared at her face. She looked a bit familiar. "Er..."

"Oh, you do not remember me, 'arry?" The girl released a string of laughter that made Harry's stomach flip, and not in a bad way, either. "You are my 'ero, no? You saved me from the lake."

At once Harry knew who she was. "Gabrielle," he said, and now noticed the similarities with Fleur; the same smile, the same blond hair, the same slim figure. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been a child. Now...she was definitely not a child. 

"You do remember me!" And Gabrielle gave Harry two more kisses on his cheeks.

Snape cleared his throat in a rather obnoxious way. 

"Sorry," Harry said, heat rising to his cheeks. "This is Gabrielle Delacour. Fleur's sister." He gestured at Snape and Voldemort. Snape seemed close to firing off some hexes, though whether he'd be aiming them at Harry or Gabrielle, Harry wasn't sure. Voldemort seemed only vaguely interested in the situation and gave Gabrielle a quick glance before he settled his attention on Harry.

"Gabrielle, this is Severus Snape, my...partner. And Joseph Taylor, a good friend of ours."

"Charmed," Gabrielle said, but as she looked at Snape she wrinkled her nose. Voldemort got a better response; Gabrielle looked him up and down and offered him a bright smile. 

"So...er...what are you doing here?" Harry asked, taking a step back from Gabrielle, who seemed determined to hang onto his arm for some reason. 

"I am the apprentice of Madam Pomfrey," Gabrielle said with a blinding smile. She had really nice teeth, Harry couldn't help notice. "And you, 'arry, are the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, yes?"

"No," Harry said, just as Voldemort loudly cleared his throat. "Joseph has accepted that position. I'm the new flying instructor. Or assistant instructor."

Gabrielle let out a little squeak. "So you will be 'ere. With me. I am so 'appy, 'arry!"

Harry gently tried to dislodge her from his arm, but she wouldn't budge. And then an arm slipped around his shoulders and Harry found himself pulled against Snape's hard body. And Snape did something he never did outside of their own home. He leaned over and kissed Harry. On the lips. 

Gabrielle's face darkened at once, her lips turning down so she looked close to scowling. 

"As delightful as this reunion has been, Miss Delacour, my life-partner and I must be off. I'm sure we'll see each other around sometime," Snape drawled in _that_ voice, and Harry's prick, which had already shown a slight interest in the whole Gabrielle situation, now really sat up and took notice. 

"Right," Harry said, his jeans becoming uncomfortably tight. "See you around, Gabrielle."

"Au revoir, 'arry," Gabrielle said, and sauntered off, her white dress fluttering daintily around her, and Harry couldn't help but notice that her backside was as nicely shaped as the rest of her. 

The moment Gabrielle had rounded the corner, Snape released Harry with a small shove. 

"Eh?" Harry looked at Snape with a frown. "What did I do?"

Snape's only response was a cold glare. 

"She jumped me," Harry said defensively. "And she's part Veela. Jeez."

"Severus, you must excuse our Harry's rampaging hormones," Voldemort said. He seemed only amused with the situation, for which Harry was grateful. He didn't think he could handle both of them suddenly pissed off at him for no reason at all. 

"I am well aware of Mr Potters many limitations," Snape said, and turned around with a snap of his robes and stalked off in the direction of the dungeons. At once he looked like the Potions master Harry had spent six years despising with a passion. 

Harry sighed and pulled on the crotch of his jeans. Sometimes, he really hated that Snape had that kind of effect on him. 

Voldemort placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and brushed his lips across Harry's ear. "I do believe Croaker was right. This is going to be a most entertaining school year."

\----

Harry experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. Here he was, strolling through Hogwarts' corridors, discussing his private life with Voldemort.

"But I don't get why he's blaming me," Harry ranted. "She kissed me, not the other way around."

"Ah, but you did seem quite pleased with her attentions," Voldemort replied with a smile. 

"Well..."

"It was rather obvious, Harry." Voldemort gave Harry a pointed look. 

"Come on, I know neither one of you likes women, but you can't blame me for enjoying the view."

Voldemort chuckled. "I won't blame you for that, but Severus is not like me." Voldemort stopped in front of one of the windows, and Harry stood beside him, gazing out over the green lawns. "Severus, after all, does not have the same agreement with you as I have, Harry."

Frowning, Harry looked up at Voldemort. "He's been with us for _ten years_. Does he really think I'd dump him because a pretty girl smiled at me? Seriously?"

Voldemort shrugged. "Severus knows there is nothing he could do to stop you if that is what you desired."

"But I don't desire -- " Harry released a strangled breath. "So that's what this is all about? He's just jealous and he's taking it out on me?"

"I should think so, yes."

"That's insane."

"Really?" Voldemort turned to look at Harry. "You wouldn't feel the exact same way if the roles were reversed? If a handsome young man threw himself at Severus and kissed him repeatedly?"

"Maybe," Harry grumbled, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. At least his dick no longer had an active interest in the situation. 

"I know you, Harry. You would be most upset if that happened."

Harry sighed. "Yeah, probably. So what do I do now?"

Voldemort smirked and ran his hand down Harry's back. "Now you go kiss and make up, I believe it is called."

Harry considered that for a few moments. A part of him still thought that Snape was being unreasonable, but if there was one thing Harry had learned from his ten year relationship with two men, it was that sometimes, even though you might be right, you still had to give a little to keep the peace. And after their recent fight, Harry desperately wanted to keep the peace. 

"All right. I have a plan. But I need your help."

Voldemort's eyes gleamed. "Do tell."


	4. Chapter 4

Snape was exactly where they expected him to be; in the Potions classroom. Voldemort grabbed the scruff of Harry's shirt, winked at him, and then dragged him inside the classroom. 

"Professor Snape," Voldemort said, and Snape, who'd been perusing the ingredients cabinet, turned around and looked at them in surprise. "I found this student here out after curfew. I figured you'd know what to do with him." And with that, he tossed Harry in the direction of the student desks. Harry stumbled for a moment and then sat down in the exact spot he'd always used in Snape's classes. He put his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, and tried to look as much like a sullen teenager as he could. 

Snape briefly glanced between Voldemort and Harry, and then his lips curled up in a smirk. "I see." He took a few slow steps towards Harry. "I'm not surprised. In my experience, Mr Potter has a real talent for breaking the rules."

"You don't say," Voldemort drawled, and Harry heard the door slam shut behind him, followed by a few muttered locking and silencing spells. 

"Indeed." Snape now stood right in front of Harry's desk, looming over him as he stared down at Harry. And Harry pursed his lips so he wouldn't grin. He was really enjoying this little game, and he didn't want to ruin it by showing his obvious amusement. 

"Mr Potter, what do you have to say for yourself before I decide on your... _punishment_." 

A shudder ran through Harry at the way Snape pronounced that last word. "Nothing," he mumbled.

"Nothing, what?" Snape snarled, slamming one hand down on Harry's desk.

"Nothing, _Professor_ ," Harry said through gritted teeth. He shifted in his seat before he could help himself, and secretly, at that moment, he hoped Snape would just grab him, throw him over a desk, and fuck him senseless.

But Snape had other plans. "Stand up, Mr Potter, and join me here."

Harry blinked up at him in surprise. 

"Now," Snape spat, and gestured at the empty space between the student and teacher desks. 

Wondering what kind of game Snape had in mind, Harry slowly got up and shuffled towards the spot Snape indicated.

Snape stalked around him, looking Harry up and down as Harry kept his back rigid and looked straight ahead. "You will obey my every command, or you will be sorry indeed, is that understood, Mr Potter?"

"Yes, Sir." Harry swallowed back a moan. He didn't think he'd last through whatever Snape had planned. His balls were already aching for release. 

"Good," Snape whispered in his ear. "Disrobe."

Inhaling a sharp intake of breath, Harry started fumbling with his clothes. This was a very naughty fantasy come true, and part of him wanted to jump up and down, and dance with joy. Over the years, as his relationship with Snape had changed, he'd often thought back to their days as professor and student, and all those hours they'd spent glaring at each other in the classroom, and somehow those thoughts had become a favourite fantasy of Harry. How Snape would give him a detention, and how he'd snarl and sneer and demand Harry pleasure him. 

Harry managed to pull his shirt off, kick off his slippers and step out of his jeans. 

"Everything, Mr Potter." Snape looked down at Harry's tented Y-fronts with a heated gleam in his black eyes. 

With trembling hands Harry pushed his pants down and kicked them away. 

"On your knees. And close your eyes."

Now Harry definitely had to swallow back a groan as he sank to the cold, stone floor. He couldn't believe they were doing this, that he was sitting naked, hard, and oh so ready in Snape's classroom, and Snape was ordering him around. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. 

"Open your mouth." Snape swept past him and his robes brushed against Harry's side. Harry shuddered in response and parted his lips. 

At once he felt something warm and hard yet silky press against his lips. He sucked it inside, and knew from the shape and scent that it was Voldemort's hard cock. Moaning, he wanted to raise his hand, but someone slapped it away. 

"Hands behind your back, Mr Potter," Snape snarled, and stood behind Harry, both his hands on Harry's shoulders so he could guide Harry's body as he sucked down more of Voldemort's cock. Harry clasped his hands behind his back and breathed deeply through his nose as he swallowed around Voldemort's erection. He didn't think he'd ever been this aroused before. It was so wrong and so naughty, and so fucking _sexy_.

Voldemort released a soft moan, and Harry knew he was getting closer. He sucked harder and faster, slurping loudly with saliva coating his lips and chin, and he leaned back into Snape's touch as Snape controlled his body's movements. 

A sharp groan was followed by a flood of warm semen, and Harry swallowed and licked until it was all gone.

"Well, well, well," Snape drawled from behind him as Harry pulled back from Voldemort and inhaled a deep breath. "It seems Mr Potter is capable of obedience after all. Tell me, Mr Potter, did you enjoy that?"

"Yes, Sir," Harry moaned, wriggling helplessly in his place. His cock was about to burst, he was sure of it. 

"I am not entirely convinced just yet." Snape pulled on Harry's shoulders. "Get up, Mr Potter, and bend over my desk."

Now Harry had to squeeze his balls so he wouldn't come right there and then. Fuck, yes! Snape was going to do it...he was actually going to fuck Harry over his desk! Harry jumped up, all but ran towards the desk and threw himself over it. He ignored Voldemort's loud chuckles and wriggled his arse in Snape's direction as he glanced over his shoulder.

Snape pushed off his robes and unzipped his trousers. "Eyes front, Mr Potter!"

"Yes, Sir!" Harry said with a grin wide enough that it hurt. Two slick fingers probed his opening, but he knew Snape could tell he didn't need much preparation at all. He was so fucking ready for this. 

Snape's hard prick pushed against his pucker, and Harry moaned and pushed back, and clenched his hands around the edge of the desk. Snape thrust inside him, and Harry squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his cheek against the wood beneath it. 

"Holy fuck," Harry moaned, and met every one of Snape's thrusts, wanting Snape to fuck him harder and deeper and --

"There." Thrust." Is." Thrust. "No." Thrust. "Need." Thrust. "For." Thrust. "Talking." Thrust. "Potter."

Harry cried out as he came with violent jerks of his body. Snape hadn't even touched his prick and yet he spilled himself all over the Potions classroom floor. Snape clenched one hand around Harry's shoulder and the other around Harry's hip, and pounded into him, the desk beneath Harry scraping across the stone floor. 

"I bet you've wanted this for a while now, haven't you, Mr Potter," Snape said, though he did sound just a little bit out of breath. 

"Yes," Harry moaned, the heat inside him searing his skin. "Fuck, yes!"

Snape bucked his hips once, twice, and then came with a deep groan, fingers digging into Harry's skin just enough to make it painful, but Harry didn't care. He'd just had the best fuck of his life, he was sure of it. 

"Ten points to Gryffindor," Snape whispered, and stroked one hand down Harry's back in an affectionate gesture before he gently pulled out. Harry lay against the desk, panting, and it took him a few moments before he regained enough control over his body so he could push himself up from the desk. 

Voldemort stood leaning against the student desk, arms crossed, observing them with a most satisfied smile. Snape was tucking himself away, and Harry launched himself at Snape and threw his arms around his neck. 

"That was fucking brilliant!" Harry pressed a hard kiss against Snape's lips, and even though Snape rolled his eyes he did return it. "We have to do that again!"

Snape snorted and gave Harry a rather hopeless look. 

"Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't enjoy the hell out of that," Harry said, still grinning like a loon. 

"I suppose it might be worth repeating," Snape said with a little sniff. 

"You liked that, didn't you," Harry said in between outright laughter. "You just loved bending one of your students over your desk and fucking them senseless."

Snape smirked. "No more than you loved having your professor fucking you, _Potter_."

"Yeah," Harry agreed and collapsed against Snape, laughing. 

Snape chuckled and pushed Harry in the direction of his clothes. Harry staggered across the room and then spotted Voldemort, who had been observing them quietly. He threw his arms around Voldemort's neck and pressed a hard kiss against his lips. 

"Thanks," he whispered, and Voldemort looked at him in puzzlement. "For letting us play together."

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Voldemort said, and returned Harry's kiss for a moment before Harry let go of him. "I'm sure that was your best performance yet."

Harry grinned at him and gathered his clothes. And as he got dressed, it occurred to him he hadn't felt this happy in months. And wasn't it strange that he was able to feel such happiness, seeing as they were at Hogwarts, the bane of Harry's existence for the last ten years, or so it had sometimes felt. Well, it seemed that whatever horrible things had happened here at one point, time did prove to heal just about anything. 

As he finished zipping his jeans, Harry glanced at Snape. "About before -- "

"Forget it," Snape said with an impatient gesture of his hand. Harry smiled at him and Snape sneered in return, but Harry knew things were right between them again, and he was very glad for it. 

"Come," Voldemort said, and gestured to the door with his wand. "You two weren't done yet giving me the tour."

Harry snickered, and bumped his shoulder against Snape's, who pushed right back, and together they left the classroom behind as they followed Voldemort back into the dungeons.

\----

The second they apparated to the drawing room of twelve Grimmauld Place, Harry turned towards his lovers.

"Croaker was up to something," he said with narrowed eyes. 

"You don't say." Snape shrugged off his black robes and draped them over the back of one of the armchairs. 

Voldemort flicked his wand and summoned a bottle of red wine and three glasses. "Yes, he seemed far too interested in me."

Harry gaped at Voldemort and started snickering. "No, didn't. He didn't seem interested in you at all."

"No?" Voldemort sank down on the couch, and pulled the cork out with a flick of his wand. He poured the wine as he glanced up at Harry. "And yet the first thing he asked you was how you'd supposedly killed me."

"Ah." Harry frowned and sat down beside Voldemort. "You're right. He did seem a bit too interested in that."

"Not to mention the amount of attention he gave you," Snape said with a pointed look at Harry. He sat down on the opposite couch, reached for one of the wineglasses, and sipped it. 

"Yeah." Harry reached for a glass as well and cradled it. "He seemed awfully determined to hire me, didn't he?"

"Hmm." Voldemort sipped his own glass. "I did not get a clear view into his mind, as his attention was on you most of the time, but what I did see does not please me."

Harry smiled. It really did pay off sometimes to have a lover who was an expert at Legilimency. "What did you see?"

"A lust for power," Voldemort mused. "And a determination to uncover whatever secrets you are keeping, Harry, to learn whatever power you hold."

Harry snorted. "I'm a writer. He's going to be in for a disappointment, then."

"Don't be too sure of that," Voldemort said as he glanced at Harry with a thoughtful frown. "Between the three of us, we have plenty of secrets to keep."

Snape nodded and leaned forward. "I suggest we do not inform Croaker about our quest for Flamel's research. We will just have to search on our own."

"I agree," Voldemort said. "We must tread carefully around this man." He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Especially you, my little horcrux."

"Sure," Harry said with a shrug. "So is that why I'm now suddenly the new assistant flying instructor?"

Snape chuckled while Voldemort grinned at him and said, "Did it take you this long to figure that out?"

"No," Harry muttered and sank back into the couch. 

Voldemort patted his thigh. "It seemed the best solution once we established that Croaker had an unhealthy fascination with us. Now we can combine our forces and make quick work of our quest without drawing Croaker's attention to us."

"Yeah, I guess," Harry said and took a swig of his wine. Then he sighed. "We should have known things wouldn't go as planned when we came here."

"Well," Voldemort said with a chuckle. "At least it keeps life interesting, doesn't it?"

Harry snorted, but before he could say anything, there was an owl tapping its beak against one of the windows. Snape got up to open the window and a handful of owls flew inside. They all received scrolls, and Harry groaned when he opened his. 

"It's from my publisher. He's requesting I do a book signing in Flourish & Blotts this weekend."

Voldemort held up his own scroll triumphantly. "So is mine!"

Snape, who was busy reading a scroll of his own, briefly glanced at Harry. "You can always call it off and visit the Weasleys instead."

Swallowing, Harry rolled up his scroll. "Maybe a book signing might not be so bad."

\----

Half of wizarding Britain had gathered in Flourish & Blotts that next Saturday, or so it seemed. Harry was seated behind a table, his books spread out across the surface in a colourful display, and a long line of wizards and witches of all ages waited patiently to meet him. Voldemort was seated at a table just a small distance away from Harry, and there was an equally long line of people waiting for him.

Snape stood to the side, quietly keeping an eye on their surroundings as Harry and Voldemort signed book after book. He'd already had his moment in the spotlight the day before when he'd given a few interviews about his potions inventions with journalists from all over Britain, including a charming young lady who was writing a profile about him and his relationship with Harry Potter for _Witch Weekly_ (much to Harry's horror and Voldemort's amusement).

"Thanks," Harry said, as he handed the book he'd just signed to a plump witch called Esmeralda. She giggled and made way for the next person. Harry reached for his glass of water, took a sip, and almost choked to death when he saw who was standing in front of his table. 

"Well, well, Mr Potter." Lucius Malfoy stared down at him, looking as impeccably dressed as he'd always been. 

"Lucius," Harry managed to say once he'd recovered from his coughing fit. "How was Azkaban?"

Much to Harry's surprise, Lucius only sniffed in response. "It could use better room service, but otherwise my stay was not entirely unpleasant." 

Harry gaped at him just as a hand touched his shoulder. Snape had stepped up behind him. 

"Lucius," Snape said with a curt nod, though his hand did not leave Harry's shoulder. 

"Severus." Lucius inclined his head. "How fortunate to see you here. Narcissa and I were wondering if you and your," he glanced down at Harry for a second, "partner were interested in dinner tomorrow at the mansion. It has been too long, after all."

Harry glanced at Voldemort, and while Voldemort seemed busy signing a book for a bearded wizard, Harry knew he was aware of the situation. Nothing much ever slipped past him. 

"That is very kind of you to invite us, Lucius," Snape said pleasantly enough. "But we already had plans with our good friend for tomorrow." And Snape nodded in Voldemort's direction. 

Lucius turned to look at Voldemort, and Harry's heart missed a few beats, but there was no recognition on his face. Instead, Lucius sneered. "Ah, yes, the famed wizarding scholar. Draco seems quite taken with his work." Lucius nodded his head in the direction of Voldemort's line, and only now did Harry notice Draco standing there, a few of Voldemort's books in his arms, as he waited patiently for his turn. "I suppose we could extend our invitation to your friend, if he were so inclined to join us."

"I'm sure he will be," Snape said. "We'll inform him."

"Tomorrow then, at seven." Lucius managed a tight smile. "Good day, Severus, Harry." And with that, he turned around on his heels and disappeared into the crowd. 

Harry released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding and glanced up at Snape, but Snape's closed expression told him they'd discuss this later. Harry sipped his water again, carefully this time, and smiled up at the next wizard in line.

Over the next hour, Harry saw a few familiar faces. Old classmates and others he knew from school; Seamus and Dean, Lavender and Parvati, Cho Chang, Zacharias Smith and even Colin Creevey (who gave him a particularly bright smile). They exchanged pleasant greetings while he signed their books, and Harry was genuinely pleased to see that so many people he'd known seemed to be doing well. And as he glanced at Voldemort a time or two, he reminded himself this was why he'd made his deal, after all. So that everyone could go on with their lives and find happiness without worrying about another war looming on the horizon. 

Yes, all in all, Harry was quite satisfied with his return to the spotlight in Britain. Except for Lucius' unexpected visit, the whole afternoon had been very pleasant indeed.

That was, until he noticed a few redheads in the crowd. Harry swallowed and found it suddenly hard to breathe. He heard some movement beside him and saw from the corner of his eye that Snape walked over to the Weasleys. He absently signed his book for an older wizard named Henry, and kept half an eye on Snape, who offered a polite greeting to Mr and Mrs Weasley. 

Mr Weasley shook his hand with a happy smile, and, much to Harry's amazement, Mrs Weasley gave him a hug. Snape went rigid under the smothering attention, and despite the unease he felt, Harry snickered. He exchanged an amused glance with Voldemort, who shook his head and went on with signing. 

A few signed books later, and the Weasleys stood in front of him. Mrs Weasley leaned over the table and gave him a hug.

"Harry," she said as she pulled back and looked at him with obvious motherly affection. "You look great. It's so good to see you again."

"You, too," Harry managed to say with only a small crack in his voice. 

Mr Weasley shook his hand, and then Fred and George pushed their way forward and clapped his shoulders and gently scolded him for not having visited their store yet. 

"You have to come to the Burrow," Mrs Weasley said, as Harry signed a few books for her. "How about tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately we already have a commitment for tomorrow," Snape said smoothly from his spot beside Harry's table. 

"Next week?" Mrs Weasley asked hopefully. "We'll invite the whole family."

Harry couldn't think of a reason to refuse them, and part of him longed to see the Burrow and its inhabitants again. They'd been such an important part of his life for so many years. 

"I think we can manage that," he said, with a short glance in Snape's direction. Snape merely nodded his head. 

"Wonderful!" Mrs Weasley touched his arm for a moment, and picked up her books. "We'll see you then, Harry. So good to have you back." And with that, the Weasleys made way for more of his eager fans. 

Well, that hadn't been too bad, Harry mused as he signed another book. He'd survived his initial encounter with the Weasleys. Now he could only hope he'd survive a genuine visit with them as well.

\----

"The Malfoys? Really, Severus, the Malfoys?" Harry fumed as he grabbed three glasses off one of the kitchen shelves and slammed them onto the kitchen table.

Snape unpacked the Chinese takeaway they had opted for after they had finished up their business in Diagon Alley and silently placed the cartons on the kitchen table. 

"Well?" Harry put his hands on his hips and glared at Snape. 

"Well what, Harry?" Snape asked without a care in the world. 

"The Malfoys!" Harry threw himself into a chair and hardly even acknowledged Voldemort, who looked at him with an amused smile and filled their glasses with orange juice. 

"We were invited to dinner," Snape said reasonably as he seated himself opposite of Harry. "We accepted. I'm sure even you can understand such a simple concept."

"Oh, don't start with that now." Harry narrowed his eyes at Snape. "You know as well as I do, this is far more than just a simple dinner invitation. Those bastards have had it in for me for years."

Snape snorted. "As opposed to some people you've been living with for over a decade, you mean?" And he looked pointedly at Voldemort, who managed an offended look that almost seemed real. 

"That's different and you know it. The Malfoys might very well want to lure us to their mansion to get some revenge," Harry said, unable to comprehend why Snape was taking this all in so fucking calmly. 

"They're not going to try to hurt us, my little horcrux," Voldemort said as he reached for a carton of fried rice. 

"And how would you know?" Harry asked, and snatched the carton of sweet and sour pork away before Snape could reach for it. 

"Because they extended their invitation in public." Voldemort gave Harry a look that clearly said he should have figured that out by himself. "If something were to happen to any of us, they would be the first under suspicion, and with Lucius' criminal record, he'd end up in Azkaban for life. You really think the Malfoys don't realize that?"

"Well," Harry said, and poked his chopstick in the pork. "Maybe. But why else would they invite us?"

"Because they want a piece of our pie," Snape said, and took a bite of his noodles. 

"Huh?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Stop thinking like a Gryffindor."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you should stop thinking about yourself, and start thinking about the Malfoys. What's in it for them?" Snape leaned over just a bit and narrowed his eyes at Harry. "Both Lucius and Draco have spent time in Azkaban. Their good - and I use the term loosely - name has been damaged by it. Now they have a chance to socialize with the hero of the wizarding world. Even you should be able to understand this concept with your limited capabilities."

Huffing, Harry leaned back in his chair. "All right. They want to play nice with me. I get it. But why did you accept the invitation? What's in it for us?"

Snape smirked, just as Voldemort said, "Now that is the question, isn't it?" And then they both remained silent and Harry groaned in frustration. He hated it when his lovers did this to him, when they knew something he didn't and took great pleasure in seeing him struggle to find the answer. 

"I do believe he's too much of a Gryffindor to figure it out," Snape said to Voldemort. 

"Yes, he lets his emotions get in the way yet again," Voldemort said agreeably. 

"I hate you both," Harry muttered and crossed his arms.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ugh." Harry stared at himself in the wardrobe mirror. He hated getting dressed up. He had long ago discovered that he was very much a t-shirt and jeans kind of guy. But Snape and Voldemort had insisted he should wear dress robes tonight. He tugged on the collar of his black robes and sighed. 

"You look fine, my little horcrux," Voldemort said. He wore similar robes as Harry's, though his were embroidered with intricate silver patterns around his collar and cuffs. 

Snape, whose dress robes were plain black just like Harry's, stepped up to them. "Remember, Harry, not to give anything away. I do not care how angry you may find yourself, or how insulted at anything these people do, you should keep your emotions under control at all times. Understood?"

"Yes," Harry replied rather sullenly. They'd already been over this a few times that day, and he was getting rather annoyed that Snape seemed to have so little faith in him. 

"And do not drink too much," Voldemort added with pointed look. "We all know what happens when you're drunk."

Harry huffed. So he'd had a few pints that one time when he'd watched the Football World Cup finals in an Irish pub in Chicago when they'd been there for a book signing. So he'd got drunk out of his skull. So he'd ended up dancing naked in a fountain with a couple of Swedish tourists he'd met. So he'd been arrested for indecent exposure by the Muggle police. So Snape and Voldemort had to come bail him out. Who cared? It had been a wicked good time. 

Grinning, Harry looked up at Voldemort. "I'll behave myself, I promise."

"See that you do, my little horcrux." Voldemort narrowed his eyes just a bit. "There will be no bailing you out should the Malfoys discover anything we don't want them to know."

Harry gulped and sobered at once. "Yep. Got it."

"Good." Voldemort grabbed his elbow and steered him out of the bedroom. They followed Snape into the drawing room where Snape offered an arm to them both. Harry curled his fingers around Snape's wrist, and at once the world dissolved in flashes of bright colours. When it solidified again, they were standing in front of an impressive wrought-iron gate. 

Snape pulled out his wand, tapped it against the gate, and waited for a minute or two. Then the gate swung open and Snape gestured they should follow him. Harry looked around curiously as he walked between Snape and Voldemort. Beyond the primly manicured laws loomed a large mansion house. There were flower beds and neatly trimmed hedges, and what looked like white peacocks fluttering about. Harry managed to hide his snort with a cough and followed his lovers along the gravelled path until they reached the imposing front door. 

It opened almost at once to reveal Lucius Malfoy in silky black robes embroidered with silver and green. Harry wanted to gag at the Slytheriness of it all, but managed to control himself. 

"Severus," Lucius said with a smile that did not reach his cold, grey eyes. Snape shook his hand. "And Harry." Now Lucius offered his hand to Harry, who clenched his jaws and shook it. Then he looked at Voldemort and didn't do anything until Snape spoke. 

"Joseph Taylor," Snape said, and gestured at their host. "Lucius Malfoy."

"A pleasure, I'm sure," Voldemort said with obvious amusement and shook Lucius' hand. Lucius managed a tight smile in return and waved them all inside. The hall they'd landed themselves in was lushly decorated with shimmering chandeliers, numerous portraits and tapestries. Lucius led them into an adjoining room where a few people stood waiting for them. 

"Severus," Narcissa said, offering Snape her hand. "It has been too long."

Snape bent over and brushed his lips across the back of Narcissa's hand. "Indeed. You are looking as lovely as ever."

Harry bit back a snort, stood perfectly still, and waited patiently to be introduced. He shook Narcissa's hand (he refused to kiss it, as Snape and Voldemort did), and then he was faced with Draco Malfoy.

Draco held out his hand. "Harry," he said pleasantly enough, as though they hadn't spent six years at Hogwarts hating each other. 

Harry briefly squared his shoulders. He could play this game, if only because he didn't want to give his lovers the satisfaction of seeing him fail at playing nice with the Malfoys. "Draco," he replied with a nod and shook Draco's hand. He contemplated making a comment about how Draco looked pretty good for someone who'd spent five years in Azkaban, but he knew his lovers would have something to say about such behaviour, so he merely smiled instead. 

"Meet my wife, Astoria," Draco said as he slid his arm around a pretty brunette girl in a blue dress who looked like she'd swallowed several Bludgers. Her belly looked ready to burst, and as Harry stared for a few moments he suddenly felt a surge of blinding hatred for Draco and his pretty, pregnant wife. What had Draco bloody Malfoy ever done to deserve a family of his own? But he composed himself just in time. 

"Nice to meet you," he said, and shook Astoria's hand. 

"You, too, Harry!" She sounded genuinely happy to see him, the first to do so all evening. 

"And my sister-in-law, Daphne Greengrass." Draco gestured to another pretty brunette girl in a lavender dress. "You remember her from school, don't you?"

Harry did. Vaguely. She'd been in Slytherin, the same school year as Draco and himself, if he recalled correctly. He shook Daphne's hand, but Daphne hardly had eyes for him. As Harry glanced over his shoulder, he realized Daphne was watching Voldemort as a cat might a mouse. His initial response was amusement (if she only knew!), but that was quickly replaced by a surge of something bitter as Daphne walked over to Voldemort, her heels clicking daintily against the tiled floor, her dress fluttering out behind her. 

She allowed Snape to make introductions, and then covered her mouth with one hand and giggled as Voldemort bowed with a flourish of his robes and kissed her other hand. 

"Mr Taylor," Daphne all but sighed. "It is so good to meet you again."

"Call me Joseph," Voldemort said with a warm smile. "I insist."

Daphne giggled again and briefly touched her hand to Voldemort's arm. "Then I insist you must call me Daphne, Joseph."

Harry only now realized that he was staring with his mouth slightly opened, and he snapped it shut at once. 

"She's been talking about nothing but him ever since she met him at his book signing yesterday," Astoria said, and shook her head in obvious amusement. "Do you know if he's still single, Harry?"

"Er..." Harry was at a complete loss for words. 

"He won't be for long now that Daphne's got her claws into him," Draco said with a chuckle. Harry looked at him, but again he couldn't think of anything to say.

Daphne was now standing very close to Voldemort, puffing her chest out just a bit so Voldemort had a perfect view of her breasts as they exchanged polite conversation. Harry gritted his teeth and was tempted beyond belief to yell that Voldemort was gay and didn't give a rat's arse about her and her stupid boobs, but the arrival of a house-elf holding a tray of fluted glasses distracted him just enough to abort his plan at the last second. 

He accepted a glass of champagne and downed half of it in one swig, only to then realize that he really shouldn't get drunk. 

"I've read all your books, Harry," Astoria said, as she sipped a glass of sparkling water. "I particularly liked the one about your travels through China."

Harry looked at her in surprise. "Thanks," he said, momentarily distracted from Daphne's vulgar display to his left. 

"Who'd have thought you'd become a world traveller with Severus of all people," Draco mused, but there was no malice in his voice, only mild amusement and some curiosity. 

Harry shrugged. There was nothing he could say to them that would explain why he and Snape had ended up together that made sense. "It just sort of happened," he said with a smile, and ignored Draco's snort of disbelief. Harry looked at Snape, who seemed in deep conversation with Lucius and Narcissa, and realized that yes, whatever was there between them now had just sort of happened. 

"Well, I've always liked Professor Snape," Astoria said. 

"I haven't," Harry said and glanced at her with a grin. She giggled in response. 

"You don't say," Draco muttered, sipped his champagne, and then chuckled. "Remember that time he read that article about you out loud in front of the class?"

"In our fourth year?" Harry looked at Draco in disbelief. "That was you, who gave Skeeter all that rubbish about me."

Draco grinned. "Tell me you wouldn't have done the same, if you'd been in my shoes."

Harry considered that. Yes, if he could have made Malfoy's life a bit more miserable during their school years by passing along information to a reporter, he might just have done it. "Point," he said, and then looked to his left when Daphne released a particularly high-pitched burst of giggles. She now had her hand permanently attached to Voldemort's arm. Harry sighed and sipped his champagne. 

Draco looked between Voldemort and Harry with a small frown, and then his eyes lit up and he laughed. Harry glanced at him in confusion. 

"Daphne doesn't have a chance, does she?" Draco whispered. 

Harry, amazed Draco had figured it out in a matter of minutes, grinned. "Nope. I'm afraid there's nothing that Daphne's got that Joseph wants."

"Let's not tell her just yet," Draco said with a wicked little smile. "Let's see how much of a fool she's willing to let herself be over him."

And Harry, after he recovered from the shock that Draco actually had a pretty good sense of humour, snickered and drank the rest of the champagne.

\-----

Dinner was a lavish event of several delicious courses served in the luxurious dining room. Harry found himself seated beside Astoria, for which he was grateful, because she seemed like a nice enough person. They talked about Harry's books, and some of the countries Astoria had been to during her youth, and Harry found that conversation with her was easy and pleasant.

Voldemort was seated between Daphne and Draco, and while Draco made a good attempt to steer the conversation towards Voldemort's research (which Draco seemed to find genuinely interesting), Daphne obviously spoiled all of Draco's fun by distracting Voldemort again and again by more and more foolish displays of affection. It made Harry grin, and a few times he even shared an amused look with Draco, much to his own surprise. 

Snape was seated between Lucius and Narcissa, and just like they'd done all evening, they talked like old friends. Harry had no idea about what, but he was sure Snape would tell them later if he'd discovered anything of interest. 

At once Harry lowered the fork he'd been about to stick in his mouth. That was it! That was why Snape had accepted the dinner invitation! Information. Of course! Harry wanted to bang his head against the table. Why couldn't he have figured this out last night, when his lovers had been so obviously amused by his ignorance. Lucius Malfoy had always had his nose in everybody's business, after all, and he'd be a good source of information about the current state of Britain's wizarding community. 

Sighing, Harry returned to his filet mignon, which was perfectly cooked, and took a bite. 

After dinner they had coffee in one of the sitting rooms, and Harry found himself sitting on a couch between Snape and Voldemort. Daphne, who'd had far too much wine at this point, sat scowling in one of the armchairs as she stared at Voldemort.

Harry sipped his coffee, glad the night almost seemed over. Though he had to admit that after his initial reluctance, the evening hadn't been all that bad. 

Lucius chuckled at something Snape had just said, and Harry fixed his attention on them. 

"Though I must say, Severus," Lucius said as he leaned back in his armchair, "I am not surprised you and Harry ended up in a relationship. You always were so obsessed with Lily Evans, after all."

"We were friends in school," Snape said smoothly. "Nothing more."

Harry sloshed hot coffee over his hand and onto his robes, and he was about to open his mouth when Voldemort discreetly pinched his thigh. Hard. Swallowing against the shock of that particular revelation, Harry glanced at Voldemort, who gave him a quick glare but otherwise seemed unconcerned by the situation. 

Right. He had to keep his cool, no matter what. A house-elf appeared and cleaned up Harry's mess with a flick of his fingers and Harry inhaled a few deep breaths. Holy crap! Snape and his mum had been friends? And Snape hadn't thought to tell him that in the ten fucking years they'd been together? Harry clenched his jaws. He'd keep his cool for now, but when they got home, Snape had better have a bloody good explanation why he'd never told him that before.

\----

They said their goodbyes with promises to keep in touch, and once they left the mansion, Harry marched towards the gates without a backwards glance at his lovers. The second he stepped through them, he apparated to the drawing room in Grimmauld Place.

Only moments later two cracks announced the arrival of Snape and Voldemort. 

Snape gazed at Harry with dispassionate eyes, but Voldemort seemed rather annoyed. 

"Must we sit through your dramatics yet again, Harry?" Voldemort said as he narrowed his eyes. 

Harry clenched his fists. "My dramatics? Snape was friends with my mum and he's spent the last ten years forgetting to tell me! I think I'm bloody well entitled to some dramatics!"

"Come now, this is hardly news," Voldemort said with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

"You knew?" Harry demanded as he glared at Voldemort. " _You_ knew?"

"Of course," Voldemort said carelessly. "Who do you think asked me to spare your mother?"

Harry gasped, and then he gasped again, because there was no air left in his lungs. He glanced at Snape, but Snape stood perfectly still, his eyes closed, his face a blank mask. 

"Well," Voldemort said with a shrug. "I didn't think this was news."

Harry ran. He couldn't stay in the same room with them for a second longer. He pounded up the stairs, ignored their shared bedroom, and burst into an empty bedroom at the end of the hallway. It was dark and dusty, but Harry couldn't care less. 

He stood with one hand against the wall for support, and he gasped and gasped, and couldn't seem to stop. 

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, followed by soft voices. 

"Harry's endless displays of emotions are becoming rather tiresome," Voldemort said. 

"I will speak to the boy," Snape said, his voice devoid of any feeling. 

"Sort him out, will you? After spending the evening with that goat of a girl, I find I do not have the patience to deal with him and his hysterics."

"I'll see it done." 

One set of footsteps disappeared, but another came closer and closer, until the door opened further, revealing Snape. 

Harry stared at him but said nothing. His mind was in turmoil and his heart was pounding, and yet he couldn't think of a single word to say. 

Snape walked into the room with brisk steps, flicked his wand to turn on a lamp on the dresser, and then swished his wand at the door. It fell shut and a ripple of magic passed over it. 

"You may speak your mind," Snape said quietly. "He will not hear us."

And still Harry couldn't think of a word to say. Snape stood still as he stared at Harry, and Harry stared back, and he couldn't say for how long - minutes, hours - but none of them spoke. 

Finally, Harry found his voice again. "Why?" he whispered hoarsely. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Snape pursed his lips for a moment. "There was never a good time." He sounded so oddly composed, and it took Harry a moment to notice that Snape had his hands clenched around his wand so hard his knuckles were white. He only seemed composed, then, but inside he was boiling, but with what, Harry had no idea. 

"In all of ten fucking years there wasn't ever a good time?" Harry demanded in a shrill voice. 

Snape sniffed. "When should I have told you? When you were playing host to the Dark Lord?"

"No, of course not!" Harry yelled. "But afterwards!"

"Afterwards?" Snape snarled, his face finally betraying his emotions as his eyes flashed and his lips thinned. "AFTERWARDS YOU WERE TOO BUSY FUCKING YOUR MOTHER'S MURDERER!"

Harry fell back, and not just from the sudden increased volume of Snape's voice. In all their years together, no matter the insults or fights or arguments they'd shared, Snape had never passed judgement before on Harry's choice, on Harry's deal with Voldemort. Something ripped inside Harry's chest, something tore on his insides, until Harry was sure he'd never be able to breathe again. He stumbled back and back until he hit the wall, and sank to the floor without even realizing his legs had given up. 

Snape seemed to fold in on himself. He lowered his head, his shoulders hunched, his back bowed, black hair obscuring his face. He eased himself onto the edge of the dusty bed and sat, eyes fixed on the floor. 

Hours seemed to pass. That's how long it took for Harry to learn how to breathe again. "You fucked him, too. You fucked him when she was still alive." Harry's voice was no more than a whisper, and yet it hit Snape hard enough to make him flinch. 

"I know." Snape sounded broken, as though all the life had suddenly drained out of him. "I regret...much."

Harry swallowed. His mouth was dry. "Do you regret...this?" he asked, when all he really wanted to know was if Snape regretted him. 

"No." Snape cast Harry a brief glance from under his black hair. "No, I do not regret...this."

Harry released a deep breath. He wiped at his eyes; they stung, probably from all the dust in the room. "I had to," he whispered. He needed for Snape to understand that. He needed for Snape to understand him. Without Snape, Harry would not have survived the last ten years with his sanity intact. "I know I'm fucking my mother's murderer, but I had to. And I think -- sometimes, I even like him -- and I _know_ who, what he is, but I had to."

Snape nodded, and Harry heaved a sigh of relief. "I promised her I would keep you safe," Snape said, and Harry looked up at him in surprise. "Not her living self...but afterwards, I promised her memory, I would protect you."

Harry stared at Snape, unsure what to think of this new revelation. "Is that why...but you tried to kill me! When, at first...you cast the killing curse at me."

Snape finally raised his head somewhat so he could look Harry in the eye. "I never claimed I haven't made mistakes."

"Oh." Harry stretched out his legs, which had been folded under him and started to ache. "Is that why you are here?"

"At first."

"But then why...you hated me, when you first met me. Why did you hate me?"

Snape sighed and stared at the wall. "I hated you for being your father's son. I hated you for being the reason she got killed. I hated you for having her eyes. I hated you for being alive while she was dead. I hated you..."

"Ah." Harry wiped at his eyes again. Fucking dust. "I hated you for hating me."

One of the corners of Snape's mouth quirked up.

"But now..." Harry looked up at Snape with pleading eyes. 

"Now I don't hate you," Snape said, and he sounded quite sure of himself. "I have not hated you for some time now."

Harry crawled towards the bed, dust flying up around him. He hoisted himself up and sat down beside Snape and stared into Snape's black eyes. "I don't hate you either. For some time now."

Snape leaned closer and brushed his lips across Harry's. With a soft moan, Harry wrapped his arms around Snape's neck and deepened the kiss. They moved their lips together, their tongues, and it was slow and quiet, and it eased things in Harry's chest, things that had been ripped and torn, but seemed to mend slowly again. 

"Will you tell me?" Harry asked after they pulled apart. He reached for Snape's hand and weaved his fingers through Snape's. "About her? About you both?"

"I will. But not tonight." Snape inhaled a sharp breath. "Let's not keep him waiting. He doesn't have the patience for our little heart-to-hearts." He sounded like himself again, all arrogance with a drizzle of sarcasm, and it made Harry snicker. 

"Yeah, back to reality," Harry said and managed a smile. 

"Tomorrow." Snape got up and pulled Harry up with him, and finally let go of his hand. "I will show you tomorrow."

"Show me?"

"I can show you the house your mother grew up in. I've meant to stop by my own house anyway, and it's in the neighbourhood." Snape brushed some dust off his robes and waved his wand at the door. 

"I'd like that," Harry said as he moved slowly towards the door. 

"It's a date, Potter." Snape gave him a little shove, and Harry batted his hand away and walked towards their bedroom. 

They found Voldemort in bed, propped up on some pillows, a Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook in his hands. 

"Took you long enough," Voldemort said as he looked up from his book. "You should really learn to control yourself, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a work in progress." That earned him a chuckle from both Voldemort and Snape. 

"You seem calm again." Voldemort closed his book and placed it on the nightstand. "Come to bed, my little horcrux."

"Be right there." Harry gave Snape one last glance and walked into the bathroom.

\----

“I have no desire to join you on your little trip down memory lane.” Voldemort sat at the kitchen table, a pot of tea at his elbow, and books and parchment strewn around him. “Besides, I have lesson plans to make.”

Harry grinned. Even though he still wasn’t sure about the whole idea of Voldemort as the new DADA teacher, he knew one thing, though: when Voldemort did something, anything, he did it _right_. 

“We will leave you to it, then,” Snape said, as he checked the pockets of his black jeans for his wallet and his wand. “We will probably be back sometime this afternoon, before supper.”

“Good.” Voldemort glanced at the cooling cabinet and frowned. “We really need to do something with that broccoli you bought, before it grows legs. I’ll cook something.”

“See you later,” Harry said with a smile, and he grabbed hold of Snape’s arm. The world dissolved until Harry found himself standing in a tiny sitting room with bookcases covering the walls around him. There was a battered couch and an old armchair, and faded carpet beneath their feet. 

“What is this place?” Harry asked, letting go of Snape’s arm as he looked around. 

“My house,” Snape said. 

“Well.” Harry glanced at Snape and grinned. “Best get cleaning then before one of us comes down with miner’s lung.”

Snape snorted with laughter for a few moments, and then seemed to compose himself as he shook his head. “I sealed it off before I returned to Hogwarts. Then we left Britain.” He shrugged and looked at the bookcases, taking in a few titles. “I suppose I could sell it now.”

“Did you grow up here?” Harry looked around again, but he didn’t dare sit down on the couch. Everything was covered in grime. 

Snape nodded. 

“If it’s your home, you don’t have to sell it,” Harry said, thinking maybe Snape would like to keep it since it was his childhood home. 

Snape looked at him. “This hasn’t been home for a long time now.”

Heat rose to Harry’s cheeks, though he had no idea why. “So, are you going to give me the grand tour?”

“If you wish.” Snape gestured to a door on their right and Harry followed him. The grand tour consisted of the tiny sitting room, a tiny dining room, a tiny kitchen, a tiny bathroom, and upstairs a tiny bedroom, and another, even tinier room. Harry didn’t dare say anything, but he thought he understood why Snape would want to sell it. The house had a depressed feeling about it, a dankness that wasn’t the result of it having been vacant for a decade. 

“I could pack up the books, have the furniture taken away, and then put it on the market,” Snape mused as they returned to the sitting room. “But that will have to wait for another day. I owe you some answers, I believe.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, suddenly nervous. “Where are we going?” he asked as he followed Snape out of the front door. 

“You’ll see.”

They walked side by side through empty streets. All the small houses looked similar, and rather depressing. There was a river some distance away, but Harry never got a good look at it through the jumble of streets. They crossed a busier street with bigger houses, and passed through a main street that held some simple shops, like a butcher’s and a bakery. And all the while, Snape didn’t say a word, and neither did Harry. 

They reached a small playground, surrounded by a few scattered trees, with some grass and bushes beneath them. It was an old playground; the metal was worn and rusted in places, and the asphalt had numerous cracks in it. 

Snape walked towards a swing set, Harry trailing some distance behind. Snape touched his hand to one of the poles and lowered his head, appearing deep in thought. Harry left him to it and looked at the swings. One of them was broken; the metal chain had rusted through, and the swing lay crumpled on the asphalt. 

Glancing around, making sure there were no Muggles about, Harry got his wand out and cast a silent _Reparo_. The swing lifted up at once, the chain mending itself in an instant. Harry smiled and sat himself down on the swing, pushing his feet gently against the ground to get some movement going. 

Snape was staring at him with a strange look on his face. 

“What?” Harry asked, at little bit annoyed. “There were no Muggles around. I checked.”

Snape sat down on the swing beside Harry, though he didn’t move it more than necessary. “This is where I first met your mother.”

“Huh?” 

“We were nine.”

“Ah.”

Snape stared right ahead, one hand curled around the metal chain, wind blowing his black hair around his face. “I knew she was a witch. We became friends. We started Hogwarts together. But then...I made some bad choices.”

Harry frowned, and at once he remembered the memory he’d seen in the pensieve in Snape’s office, during their disastrous Occlumency lessons. And finally he understood. “That memory...that wasn’t about my dad or Sirius at all, was it?”

Pursing his lips, Snape stared at the ground. 

“You called her a Mudblood, didn’t you?”

“Like I said, I made some bad choices. She did not forgive me for that.”

Harry inhaled a deep breath. All this time he’d thought Snape had wanted to keep that memory from him because of what the marauders had done to him that day. But that wasn’t it at all. Snape had fucked up his friendship with his mum, that’s why he hadn’t wanted Harry to see it. 

“You could have told me,” Harry muttered, a little hurt that Snape had kept that from him for all this time. “I mean, sometime in the last ten years, you could have told me.”

Snape looked away. “I honestly didn’t know how. Not with our arrangements with our companion in place.”

Harry worried his lip between his teeth and considered that. He did understand that, he thought. He himself had had to lock away certain parts of him, certain thoughts and memories and desires, to make their odd relationship with Voldemort work. Harry rarely thought about his parents, or Ginny, or Sirius, or Cedric, or anyone he knew who’d been hurt by his lover. He had to, in order to keep his sanity. 

Perhaps Snape had had to do the same. 

“All right,” Harry sighed, and then something occurred to him and he looked at Snape in alarm. “Did you and my mum ever...you know...”

Snape snorted. “No. I had certain feelings for her until I realized I preferred my own gender. But we have only ever been friends.”

“Good,” Harry said, at once extremely relieved. 

Snape turned to look at Harry. “What I said last night -- “

Harry held up his hand. “No. Don’t. It hurt. But it was true.” 

“Perhaps. But I did not mean -- “

“Just forget it, all right?” Harry glared at Snape, and then inhaled a deep breath. “We’re in this together. We’re both -- look, he’s our dragon, right? And what we do with him is our business, not anyone else’s. Not even my mum’s, or my dad’s, or Ginny’s. We know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. That’s enough.”

For some reason, Harry suddenly felt like crying and he hated it. He squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth. And then there were hands pulling him up, and Harry buried his face against Snape’s throat and wrapped his arms around Snape’s body. There was no need for more words. Snape understood.


	6. Chapter 6

Snape showed him the house his mother had grown up in. It was a small, white house, with a little lawn and some flowers around it. It looked nice enough, Harry supposed, but surprisingly he didn’t feel much of anything looking at it. It was just a house. 

They walked around and Snape showed him a few more places that had played a role in his and his mum’s childhood, and Harry appreciated it, but more because it gave him a glimpse into Snape’s childhood than anything to do with his mother. He’d never known his mother. And he’d been living with Snape for ten years. It wasn’t surprising who was more important to him. 

Around midday they bought some pastries at the bakery and found a bench near the river. They sat and they ate, and afterwards Harry turned to Snape and grinned at him. 

“By the way, I figured out why you accepted the invitation to the Malfoys’ dinner party.”

Snape slapped a hand against his chest and inhaled a sharp breath. “No! All by yourself? Your brilliance never fails to amaze me, Potter.”

Harry kicked him against his ankle. “I’m serious! You wanted information, right?”

Snape rolled his eyes. “And it took you a whole day to figure that out?”

“I’m a Gryffindor, what can I say?” Harry snickered as Snape smirked at him. “But what did you find out?”

“Plenty.” Snape leaned back against the bench, his legs stretched out. “Lucius is having trouble investing in new businesses. That’s how he’s always added to his fortune, but after his stint in Azkaban people aren’t as eager for his money as they used to be.”

“Serves him right,” Harry muttered. “What else?”

“They weren’t happy with Draco’s choice of a spouse.”

“What?” Harry looked at Snape with wide eyes. “But Astoria’s a really nice girl.”

“Exactly. And that’s the problem.” Snape looked highly amused. “I think they’d have much preferred Daphne for a daughter-in-law. She’s more...ambitious.”

“You don’t say. Did you see how she -- oh, sweet Merlin.” Harry doubled over with laughter. 

Snape chuckled and nodded his head. “Apparently she spent a year going after Draco in much the same way as she did last night with our good friend.”

Harry laughed louder and slapped his thighs. ”I never thought I’d say this, but...poor Draco!”

They laughed for a few moments longer, and then Snape composed himself and looked at Harry. “As for our dear friend, Casimir Croaker...apparently there was some disagreement amongst the Board of Governors about whether or not he should be made Headmaster.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They even tried to make public the work he’s done for the Department of Mysteries, to make sure he hadn’t been working on anything too unscrupulous, but the Ministry stopped them from ever finding out what exactly Croaker had been involved in.”

Harry frowned. “That’s a bit suspicious, isn’t it?”

Shrugging, Snape cocked his head as he glanced at Harry. “I find him entirely suspicious, but then again, I’m a Slytherin.”

Pushing his shoulder against Snape‘s, Harry grinned at Snape, who grinned right back. 

“Come,” Snape said, as he got up from the bench. “Let’s get back home before our dragon burns down the house.”

\-----

Over the next few days Harry helped Snape pack up all the books and a few other trinkets Snape wanted to keep from his tiny house. They arranged for the furniture to be taken away, and they cleaned the place up and performed a few magical repairs. Voldemort kept busy with his lesson plans, and as Harry glimpsed parts of it, he had to admit that he was impressed. They were thorough and included tons of magic Harry hadn't heard of when he'd been a student. And while there were a few discussions planned about the nature of magic and what constituted Dark Arts, there weren't any actual Dark Arts on the curriculum, much to Harry's relief.

Now Snape had an appointment with an estate agent. Since the house was Muggle in origin, Snape intended to sell it as such. With only two more days until their planned visit with the Weasleys Harry was nervous and even a bit cranky, and Snape ordered him to stay home, having no patience for his sulky behaviour. 

And thus Harry found himself sitting in the drawing room beside Voldemort, who had finished his lesson plans the night before. 

Voldemort was reading _The Daily Prophet_ , and Harry was lying back in the couch, staring up at the ceiling. He sighed and tapped the heel of one shoe against the floor. Voldemort glanced at him briefly, but didn't comment. 

Harry's stomach was in knots about his upcoming reunion with the Weasleys. Parts of him wanted to go, wanted to see them again, wanted to spend time at the Burrow, but other parts of him wanted to run away screaming because of the role he'd played in Ginny's death. Not to mention that Ginny's murderer was sitting right beside him and would be joining them at the Burrow. It just all seemed rather morbid and grotesque. 

Harry looked around the drawing room. Nothing had changed since he'd lived here with Voldemort stuck in his head. In fact, it was in this very room that Voldemort had got his new and improved body. Harry thought back to those days, when he'd spent his time bickering with Voldemort about Muggle movies and museums and restaurants. Surprisingly, thinking back to those times made him smile, and at once he had an idea. 

"Come on," Harry said as he jumped up from the couch. "Let's go."

Voldemort looked up at him with a frown. "Let's go where?"

"It's a surprise." Harry grabbed Voldemort's arm and pulled him up from the couch. "Oh, come on. It'll be fun."

Voldemort's expression told Harry he doubted that, but he got up anyway. Harry made sure his wallet was tucked in the back pocket of his jeans and then he gestured for Voldemort to follow him. After a moment of hesitation, Voldemort trailed after him out the front door.

\----

"They're bones, Harry."

Harry grinned up at Voldemort. "But they're very old bones. They're interesting."

Sighing, Voldemort shook his head, but Harry noticed a small smile playing around his lips. Seeing Voldemort's reaction when Harry had brought them to The Natural History Museum had been very amusing. 

"Very well. You get the morning here. I get to choose this afternoon's entertainment."

"The London Dungeon?" Harry asked expectantly. 

"Of course." Now Voldemort really was smiling, and they walked away from the triceratops to look at more dinosaurs. 

"And lunch at McDonalds," Harry said happily. Voldemort made a face. It was one of those curious things Harry had learned about Voldemort over the years. Voldemort liked good food. He took great pleasure in trying out new cuisines where ever they went, and it was one of the very few instances where Voldemort didn't consider Muggles inferior. In fact, Voldemort claimed wizards had a lot to learn from Muggles when it came to cooking. When he'd first said that, in a seafood restaurant in Lisbon where Harry had eaten lobster for the first time, Harry had almost fallen out of his chair in sheer shock that Voldemort would ever confess such a thing. 

"Come on," Harry said, and bumped his shoulder against Voldemort. "It's all part of our little trip down memory lane." Voldemort sniffed, but didn't say anything, so Harry took that for agreement. 

"I thought your differences with Severus had been settled," Voldemort said as they entered a new hall. "And yet you seemed quite agitated this morning after he left."

"Huh?" Harry frowned as he glanced up at Voldemort. "Oh, that wasn't about Severus. We've made our peace. I'm just...nervous, I suppose."

"About our visit to that family?"

"Yeah." Harry stopped alongside a display of oviraptors. "Even you must understand why I'm nervous about that."

"I do," Voldemort said, and placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "But it's been ten years, Harry. What's done is done. You must let it go. You cannot let the past control your life like that."

Harry sighed and shuffled towards a bench. He sat down and stared at his lap. Voldemort lowered himself to the bench beside Harry, and they didn't speak for several minutes as Harry tried to gather his thoughts.

"Did you..." Harry finally said, trying to find the words to ask Voldemort something that he'd been wondering about for years. "When we were here the first time, was this already part of your plan? Were you already thinking of...I don't know..."

"Was I already thinking of giving up my life's ambition when you dragged me here ten years ago, you mean?" Voldemort asked, and Harry nodded in response. "No, not at that time. All I cared about at that time was getting my body back."

"Then why did you go along with it in the end?"

Voldemort sat back a bit and stared at the dinosaurs in the distance. "You made the suggestion, Harry. You spoke of second chances. You gave me the idea that power could be gained in other ways besides world domination." Voldemort pursed his lips for a moment. "And you pointed out the risks involved with going up against the Muggle world." Voldemort sneered a little, as though that confession just didn't sit well with him. 

Harry smiled. "Well, I'm glad you went along with it. No one would have liked a nuclear war."

Chuckling, Voldemort placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and stroked a finger across Harry's throat. "You were able to let go of our past. Enough so that we were able to share our lives for all these years in relative comfort." 

Harry considered that, unconsciously leaning into Voldemort's touch. It was true, wasn't it? Yes, sometimes he still struggled with his choice, as the last week had proven, but all in all, he had let go of that part of his past enough to make his relationship with Voldemort work. "You're right," he whispered. 

"Aren't I always?" Voldemort said with a smirk. 

"No, you're -- " But Voldemort cut him off with a kiss. Harry let his eyes fall shut and returned it with soft caresses of his lips and tongue. If anyone had told him ten years ago, when he'd dragged Voldemort here for the first time, he'd one day be sitting there, kissing Voldemort and enjoying it, he would have thought them mad. And yet, they'd done it...they'd both let go of their pasts enough to make it work, to make a life together that was good. 

Someone cleared their throat a small distance away. 

Harry pulled back from Voldemort and blinked his eyes open. 

A woman with three small children stood glaring at them. "Must you do that in public?"

Voldemort narrowed his eyes to mere slits, but Harry quickly cleared his throat and offered the woman an apologetic smile. "Sorry. But it's our ten year anniversary. This is where we had our first...date."

"Well," the woman said, but her expression softened just a bit. She nodded and ushered her children towards the next display.

"Our first date?" Voldemort asked with an innocent smile. He slipped his arm around Harry's shoulders. "Oh, my Harry, I had no idea you were such a romantic."

"Shut up," Harry muttered, and poked Voldemort in the ribs with his elbow.

\----

He had to let go of the past. He had to let go of the past. Harry kept telling himself that over and over again as he stood in front of the bathroom mirror and brushed his hair. He slapped on some cologne, heaved a deep sigh, and made his way down to the drawing room where Voldemort and Snape were waiting.

"I'll apparate us," Snape said as he got up from the couch and took in Harry's nervous appearance. "I have no desire to get splinched."

Harry didn't say anything but accepted Snape's arm and let him apparate them to the Burrow. 

Blinking his eyes against the bright sunlight, Harry looked around the field they found themselves in. In the distance he saw the pond. He recalled the night he'd discovered Voldemort was living inside his head, how he'd stood there, filled with disbelief and defeat.

"Come," Voldemort said and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder to gently steer him forwards. 

The Burrow looked exactly like Harry remembered it; crooked and worn and cosy and inviting.

"There you are!" Mr Weasley held up a hand in greeting. He stood outside, arranging tables and chairs with Bill and Percy. 

"Hi," Harry said, relieved his voice sounded normal. 

"Harry!" Mrs Weasley came bustling out of the kitchen and threw her arms around Harry for a moment. "And Severus!" Snape took a step back in alarm, but Mrs Weasley merely smiled at him and shook her head fondly. 

"This is Joseph Taylor," Snape said, gesturing at Voldemort. 

Voldemort kissed Mrs Weasleys hand and offered her the bottle of wine and box of Muggle chocolates Harry had bought for her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Madam."

Mrs Weasley blushed, giggled and slapped Voldemort gently on the arm. "Oh, you shouldn't have."

Harry shared an amused look with Snape. Voldemort might be an arrogant, homosexual, psychopathic Slytherin, but he always knew how to charm the ladies.

"Harry."

Hearing his name said in that hoarse voice made Harry look up in shock. "Remus."

"How have you been?" Remus stepped closer, Tonks on his heels.

"I..er..." There was a brief moment of awkward silence as Harry stared at Remus, and then he wrapped his arms around Remus' neck and gave him a tight hug. "I've been good. How are you?" he whispered and swallowed, and felt awkward again as he stepped back. 

"We've been good," Remus said, as Tonks rushed forward to give Harry a hug. "And you remember Teddy," Remus continued after Tonks released him. He gestured at a boy with bright blue hair and an infectious grin. "He'll be starting Hogwarts this year."

Harry gaped at the boy. Was he eleven already? When had that happened? He knew, of course, that Remus and Tonks had had a son during the war, but he'd been too busy then to pay much attention to it. And the last time he'd seen Remus and Tonks, in Grimmauld Place when they'd stopped by one evening, he'd had Voldemort living in his head, and his friends' personal life hadn't been high up on his list of priorities. 

"Harry will be teaching you to fly then," Voldemort said, and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. 

"Awesome," Teddy said, his grin growing even wider. Snape crossed his arms and gave a snort, and Harry knew he was thinking of foolish Gryffindors and their penchant for troublemaking. He gave Snape an amused look, which Snape returned with a sneer, and then Mr Weasley stepped up to introduce them to even more Weasleys. 

Everyone was there (well, except for Ginny, but Harry didn't think about her. Much.), and Harry met all the spouses, and was introduced to more children than he could remember names. They gathered in the yard, sitting at a long table, while Mrs Weasley served tea and coffee and homemade cake, and all the children ran around playing with a few practice Quaffles. 

It was loud and disorganized and so utterly perfect, Harry choked up on more than one occasion. 

While his life had been good, happy even, for most of the time, he'd missed this. He'd missed it more than he thought possible now that he was there. 

Snape sat beside Bill while they discussed something to do with Gringotts. Voldemort was discussing some Ministry regulations with Mr Weasley and Percy, and if Harry hadn't known who he really was, he'd have blended right in.

"You okay?" A hand touched his shoulder, and Harry turned in his seat to look up at Hermione. She'd just put little Hugo down for a nap, and now pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. 

"Yeah," Harry said, and managed to genuine smile. "It's good to be back." And surprisingly, he meant it. 

"We've missed you, too." Hermione said and patted his arm for a moment. "I won't say we haven't been worried about you when you first left."

Harry sighed. "Look, it's hard to explain why I left like that...it's just something I had to do."

Hermione nodded. "It couldn't have been easy for you, I know. Having to deal with Voldemort since you were eleven...going through the war the way we did...I understand you needed some time for yourself. I'm just glad you're back and doing so well." She glanced at Snape. "He's been good for you, hasn't he?"

"Yeah," Harry said and chuckled. "Who'd have thought?"

But instead of laughing, Hermione gave him a knowing look. "I always thought you two had a lot in common, if only you could let go of all that hatred. I'm glad he makes you happy, Harry."

Harry nodded his agreement, heat rising to his cheeks. He might have been shagging Snape for over a decade, but it still made him feel strange to think of him as someone more than a companion whom he'd entered into a relationship with under Voldemort's conditions. 

"And now you're going to teach at Hogwarts," Hermione said with a great deal of excitement. "Why did you decide to do that?"

Harry sat up and looked around for Ron. He'd been meaning to discuss this with his friends. "You'll both want to hear this story," he said, as he waved Ron over from where he stood talking to Fred and George. 

Ron hurried over and sat down on Harry's other side, and Harry told them in whispered tones about what had happened in Croaker's office. 

"Croaker wanted you that badly?" Ron said after Harry finished the story. "Why?"

"That's the question," Harry said. "He was really laying it on thick, to get me to teach at Hogwarts."

"What did Croaker want?" Mr Weasley, who sat opposite them, asked, and curiously, Harry felt as if they'd been caught discussing something no one else should hear. And then he wanted to slap himself. For fuck's sake, they weren't teenagers anymore. They weren't on some secret mission from Dumbledore only they were supposed to know about. 

"Croaker seemed a bit too interested in Harry," Snape answered for him, and at once the table fell silent and all eyes were on them. 

"And he was a bit too interested in how Harry killed Voldemort as well," Voldemort said with a smile. 

"Croaker? Really?" Tonks leaned forward in her seat. "He was always the ambitious type, from what I understand, but he's never been under any official investigation."

"And yet he would have tied Harry up and kept him there if he could have got away with it," Voldemort said as he leaned back in his seat. 

"What I would like to know is what Croaker did at the Department of Mysteries," Harry said, and at once Ron and Tonks shared a look. They were both Aurors, after all. 

"We'll see what we can find out," Ron said with a firm nod. 

"I'm still on maternity leave, but I'll ask around as well," Hermione said, and Harry gave her a grateful smile. "If he's up to something, we'll work it out, Harry."

Harry reached for his tea. Yes, it really was good to be back.


	7. Chapter 7

Diagon Alley was filled to the brim with exasperated parents and nervous students. Harry loved it as he strolled past all the shops, Snape and Voldemort at his side. They'd visited many other wizarding shopping districts around the world over the years, but none of them came close to Diagon Alley as far as Harry was concerned. 

They passed Eeylops Owl Emporium, and Harry slowed his pace. "Perhaps we should get an owl," he said quietly, as Snape and Voldemort looked at him. "So we can keep in touch with our friends about...you know who." He looked up at Voldemort with a wide grin, who stared back at him with a sneer. 

"It's not a bad idea," Snape said as he peered at the owls displayed in front of the shop. "It's good to see that you possess a decent brain after all, Potter."

Harry was tempted to stick his tongue out at Snape, but thought better of it. They examined the owls for a few moments. 

"This one," Voldemort said, pointing at a huge, black bird with mean yellow eyes. 

"No, this one." Harry gave Voldemort a stern look and indicated a beautiful snowy owl. He'd missed Hedwig over the years, though he knew Hermione had taken good care of her until she'd died of old age. 

Snape cleared his throat, and gestured at an inconspicuous barn owl. "Or we could go for something a little less...flashy. It wouldn't do to write to our...friends using a bird that stands out like a dragon amongst puffskeins."

Harry sighed. He hated it when Snape was right and he wasn't. Voldemort considered the matter for a few moments and then nodded his head. "Very well."

Harry picked up the caged barn owl, went inside the shop to get some more supplies and pay for it, and when he walked outside again he found Snape and Voldemort in a heated discussion. 

"I say we name him Hades," Voldemort said. "Or Styx."

Snape snorted. "The bird is much better off with a decent name like Barnaby or Maximillian."

"Betsy!" Harry said, blurting out the first funny name that popped into his head as he held up the cage. The owl hooted happily. When Voldemort and Snape glared at him, Harry added with a grin, "It's a girl!"

Before Voldemort or Snape could hex him into tiny little bits, they were interrupted by a loud squeal. 

"'Arry!"

Snape appeared at Harry's side so fast it seemed as though he'd apparated. "Miss Delacour," he drawled, slipping an arm around Harry's shoulders before Gabrielle could come close enough for a hug. Harry pursed his lips and stared at the ground. He knew if he dared laugh at Snape for his jealous behaviour, he'd be sleeping on the couch for a whole week. Voldemort, however, had no such qualms and chuckled as he watched the scene unfold. 

"Hi, Gabrielle," Harry said, and tried very hard not to notice the dress she was currently wearing was even more low-cut than the one she'd worn before. 

"I'm so 'appy to see you 'ere," Gabrielle said with a blinding smile. "Perhaps we could 'ave lunch, yes?"

"No," Snape said at once, eyes narrowing to slits, but Gabrielle didn't seem to notice. She only had eyes for Harry. "We have much shopping to do, still." Snape gave a little tug on Harry's shoulders. 

Gabrielle released a disappointed sigh. "Then I will see you at 'ogwarts soon."

"Undoubtedly," Snape said, and before Harry could even say goodbye to Gabrielle, Snape steered him away into the crowd. 

Snape released Harry once they were quite a distance away and glared at him. "Must you encourage that little trollop?"

"What?" Harry asked, and he looked over his shoulder at Voldemort for help, but Voldemort seemed far too amused with the whole thing to intervene. Harry glared back at Snape. "Oh, come on, I didn't do anything!"

"That is not how it looked from where I was standing, Mr Potter." And with that, Snape stalked off towards Madam Malkin's. 

"But I didn't do anything!" Harry said urgently to Voldemort, who only shrugged in response and walked off after Snape. 

Sighing, shoulders slumped, Harry made his way to Madam Malkin's as well. At first, he thought Snape's behaviour amusing, but now he was torn between anger and hurt. He really hadn't done anything (well, except perhaps briefly stare at certain specific parts of Gabrielle, but he was a man, dammit!), and here Snape acted as though Harry had declared his undying love for the girl. 

He pushed the door to the shop open and noticed Snape and Voldemort perusing a rack of robes. The second Madam Malkin spotted Harry, she rushed over towards him, almost tripping over the hem of her own robes in sheer excitement. 

"Mr Potter!" she gushed, urging him further into the shop. "So good to see you here again. Teacher's robes for you today?"

"Er...yeah..." Harry let Madam Malkin guide him to a little dais, and he allowed her to work her tape measure on him after he carefully put Betsy's cage down. Hogwarts' teacher robes were plain black and rather boring, as it turned out. Harry also selected a few burgundy robes made of a lighter material, which he thought would be comfortable to wear during the actual flying lessons. 

"Harry!"

That voice made Harry cringe, and he turned to see Croaker standing in the doorway. 

"I thought I'd glimpsed you in the Alley," Croaker said, striding towards Harry with brisk steps. "How about lunch? My treat." And then he actually winked at Harry. 

"We're ever so sorry, Headmaster, but we'll have to decline. We have a few other appointments that cannot keep." Snape sidled up to Harry and offered Croaker a faint smile. 

"Ah." Croaker seemed to consider a few things for a moment, as he glanced from Harry to Snape and back. "That is a shame, a shame indeed."

"Headmaster," Voldemort said as he moved to stand beside Croaker. "I was meaning to talk to you about a few things I ran into when making my lesson plans. Perhaps I could take you to lunch." 

"Well..." Croaker looked up at Voldemort with a slightly baffled expression. "I suppose you could do that."

"Marvellous." Voldemort smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. "Harry, will you take my new robes home with you? I'm sure we'll sort it out later." And with that, Voldemort placed one hand on Croaker's shoulder and resolutely led him towards the door. 

Harry stared after them for a moment, his stomach clenching with dread. Voldemort wouldn't actually kill Croaker, would he?

"I'm sure our friend only wants to take a closer look at the Headmaster," Snape whispered, and Harry turned to stare at him. Of course! If Voldemort had Croaker to himself for an hour or so, he could focus on Croaker's mind and hopefully find out what Croaker was up to. 

"All right." Harry smiled at Snape, and he was glad to see that Snape seemed to be over his earlier bout of jealousy. "Apothecary next?"

Snape nodded, and together they gathered all their new robes so they could be on their way.

\----

They got home an hour later, and Snape insisted on cooking, shooing Harry from the kitchen. Harry let Betsy out of her cage, offered her a few owl treats, and then settled in the drawing room after he put the rest of their purchases away. He couldn't help but glance at the door every few minutes or so. Voldemort still hadn't returned.

He must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing he knew Snape was shaking him awake. 

"Supper's ready," Snape said. He'd changed out of his robes and was now wearing black trousers and a black shirt with silver cufflinks. Harry blinked. Had Snape brushed his hair? Well, whatever he'd done, he looked...nice. 

"Good," Harry said, and bit back a yawn. "I'm hungry."

He followed Snape down to the kitchen, where he found the table set for two, which wasn't out of the ordinary. What was new, though, was the single candle burning between the plates. 

"Sit," Snape ordered, before Harry had a chance to comment. 

Harry sat, and watched as Snape levitated the dishes to the table. Snape had cooked roast beef with roast potatoes, Yorkshire pudding, and peas. It was Harry's most favourite food in the whole wide world, and Snape had cooked it for him. Why, Harry had no clue, but he appreciated it all the same. 

"Smells great," Harry said, and tucked into his dinner. Snape hummed his agreement, and for a few minutes they ate quietly. 

"Tom's not home yet?" Harry asked. 

"He flooed that he's running late," Snape said, unconcerned, and took a bite of roast beef.

"What is he running late for? How long does it take for him to question Croaker?" Harry sat back and stared at Snape. It just didn't sit well with him that Voldemort was out there, on his own, doing Merlin knew what. 

"He ran into Ms Granger at The Leaky Cauldron, who offered to take him to the Ministry where they could discuss Croaker with a few of your Auror friends." 

"He what now?" Harry was halfway out of his chair and ready to apparate straight to the Ministry, but Snape rose from his seat and glared at him. 

"Sit down!" 

Harry sank back down in his chair, his back rigid, his hands trembling. 

"He's only trying to find out everything he can about Croaker," Snape said, as he, too, sat down again. 

"This is _Voldemort_ we're talking about," Harry grumbled, unable to understand why Snape wasn't more worried about Voldemort loose at the Ministry with Hermione of all people. 

"No!" Snape gasped in mock surprise. "I hadn't figured that out yet, who he really was, in the last ten years."

Despite his unease, Harry snickered, and received a smirk in return. "Tastes great," he said as he returned his attention to his dinner. 

"Hmm." Snape waved his comments away with his fork, and they resumed eating in silence. 

Afterwards, Snape disappeared as Harry did the dishes and cleaned up. It was a rule they'd come up with early on in their odd relationship: the cook never had to clean up.

When the kitchen was clean again, Harry went in search of Snape. He found him in the drawing room. 

Snape was sitting on the couch, reading a book, but doing so in a very obvious way. He had the book held open right in front of his face, and Harry saw his black eyes peek over the rim for a second, as if to make sure Harry saw him, only to then disappear behind the book again. 

And just as Harry wondered what Snape was up to, he recognized the book Snape was holding. It was the battered copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ Harry knew only too well. It was the Half-Blood Prince's book. 

Harry bit his lip. While he'd still had Voldemort stuck in his head, and they'd been searching for Ginny in the Room of Requirement, Voldemort had retrieved the book and given it back to Snape. But that was the last time Harry had seen it in ten years. 

What was Snape trying to -- wait...was Snape trying to...no. Harry frowned. Was Snape trying to...seduce him? But why? If any of them wanted sex, they usually just said so. The three of them had discovered early on in their relationship that they liked sex a great deal, and there was never a problem getting it with three healthy blokes around.

Harry moved a little closer to the couch and cleared his throat. "Interesting book you're reading."

Snape lowered the book just a bit and looked up at Harry as if he'd only just spotted him. "I'm merely revising a few things of the potions curriculum for the upcoming school year."

"Ah." Harry sat down on the couch beside Snape, who went back to reading, turning a page noisily. Harry wasn't sure what to do next. Should he propose sex to Snape now? Or what? 

"How did this book land in your possession anyway?" Snape asked, and he sounded as though he was trying to make polite conversation. 

"Slughorn," Harry said without thinking, and Snape looked at him in surprise. "When I had Slughorn for Potions in my sixth year, he told me to get a book from the stack in the classroom, and that book was the only one left after Ron snatched up a newer copy." 

"Hmm." Snape turned another page. "I suppose I had forgotten it in the classroom when I started teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."

Harry shrugged and looked at Snape again. "I liked the book, though. I didn't have...you know, what Hermione said...a crush or something. But I did like the book a lot."

"But you didn't know it was me, did you?"

"No, not until after...well, Hermione figured it out, but it took her a whole year." Harry shifted a little closer to Snape. "I didn't start to think of you in _that_ way until after you sucked my cock, really."

Snape bit back a snort of laughter. 

"I hadn't ever considered you had a dick or liked sex before that," Harry continued with an amused smile. "So when did you start thinking about me like that?"

Closing the book in his lap, Snape frowned. "I suppose after you fucked me that first time, when you and the Dark Lord exchanged memories."

Harry nodded. He remembered that whole episode only too well. He still had Voldemort's memories, merged with his own. 

They remained quiet for a few moments, until Harry turned towards Snape. "I really did like it, though. Fucking you for the first time, I mean. Even though Tom was in the way that time."

"Hmm." Snape shifted a little closer to Harry. "I suppose it wasn't an entirely unpleasant experience."

"But back then, it was just sex, right?" Harry placed his hand on Snape's arm and traced his fingers up to Snape's shoulder. "Now...it's not."

"Isn't it?" Snape curved an eyebrow. 

"No, and you know it, you Slytherin git." And Harry rushed forward and crushed his lips to Snape's. He grabbed the book from Snape's lap and threw it in the general direction of the coffee table. With a groan he pushed Snape back against the couch, letting himself fall on top of that wiry, familiar body. 

He deepened their kiss, moving his lips and tongue hard, and then he pulled back and licked his lips. "You need to stop it with this jealousy whenever I notice a girl."

Huffing, Snape made to push Harry off himself, but Harry pushed back down hard. "Potter, your insinuations -- "

Harry pressed his finger against Snape's lips. "Shut up and listen. I'm not going anywhere, and I don't want you to go anywhere, either. Understood?"

Snape quirked an eyebrow in response. "Very well."

"And now I'm going to fuck you, just so you know."

"I appreciate you informing me of your intentions," Snape said, and pulled Harry's head down for another kiss. Their teeth clinked and their noses bumped, but Harry didn't care. This was familiar and good and in its own imperfect way still exactly what he wanted. 

Harry tugged on the buttons on Snape's shirt just as Snape tried to lift Harry's t-shirt over his head. They struggled, snickered, and then Harry leaned back and pulled his own t-shirt off as Snape unbuttoned his own shirt. The moment Harry saw Snape's naked chest, he pushed him back down and didn't even give him a chance to pull the shirt off. 

With a grin, Harry attached his mouth to one of Snape's nipples and teased it with his teeth and tongue. As he'd learned over the years, Snape had very sensitive nipples and with the right stimulation it was the quickest way to get Snape to beg. Snape wormed his hands between their bodies and worked on the fastenings of Harry's jeans, his head thrown back and his back arched as Harry put more and more pressure on his nipple. 

"Fuck," Snape moaned, and Harry smiled as he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same kind of relentless attention. Snape managed to push Harry's jeans down, followed by his pants, and cupped Harry's bare arse with grasping fingers. 

"Harry...just..." Snape squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Just what?" Harry asked innocently as he pulled back, and Snape glared at him, his eyes mere slits. 

"Just fuck me already, you damned foolish boy," Snape snarled, followed by a groan as Harry reached between them and squeezed Snape's hard cock through his trousers. 

Chuckling, Harry pushed himself off the couch and quickly stepped out of his clothes. He leaned over Snape, who was watching him with gleaming eyes and pursed lips, and as he pulled on the buttons of Snape's trousers, he mouthed around Snape's cock through the fabric. Snape bucked his hips off the couch, almost throwing Harry off, and Harry snickered and quickly pulled Snape's trousers down. After taking care of Snape's shoes and socks, Harry grabbed the legs of Snape's trousers and yanked them off completely. 

Snape was lying naked on the couch, glaring up at him, and Harry stroked his own hard prick a few times as he took in the sight. Snape was still thin even though he'd put on some much needed weight. He was still pale, though he'd lost the worst of his sallow pallor over the years. His face was still all hooked nose and dark brows and bottomless black eyes, with a few more wrinkles here and there. His hair was as black as ever, and if Snape spent any time near a boiling cauldron, just as greasy as before. 

And Harry wouldn't have him any other way. 

As he lowered himself on top of Snape, Harry reached for his wand and summoned the lube from their bedroom. Snape moved his legs apart and Harry stroked his hands across Snape's hard cock before he cupped his balls and rolled them across his palm gently. Snape twitched his nose, moaning, and Harry caught the lube and squeezed a generous amount on his hand.

Preparing Snape was familiar, as familiar as anything he'd done thousands of times over the last decade. He eased two slick fingers inside Snape and watched closely for any signs of discomfort. Snape's body first clenched and then relaxed around his fingers, and Harry moved them in and out a little faster. 

"All right?" he whispered, and Snape gave a crooked nod in response, allowing his eyes to fall shut as he moved his body in time with Harry's fingers. 

Harry squeezed some lube on his cock, stroked it a few times, and then positioned himself between Snape's legs as he pulled his fingers out. Pressing the tip of his cock against Snape's pucker, Harry gently rolled his hips and squeezed his eyes shut as his prick slid inside. 

"Fuck," he moaned, the slick heat of Snape's body engulfing him. Snape groaned in response and reached a hand up to pull Harry closer. Leaning one hand down beside Snape's head, Harry arched over him, thrusting his hips while he kept one foot planted firmly on the ground. With his free hand Harry reached for Snape's cock and squeezed and stroked in time with his hips. 

Snape tangled his fingers in Harry's hair and pulled his head down to capture his lips with his own. They kissed as Harry thrust his hips and fisted Snape's prick, and it was quiet and exciting and just so fucking _right._

With a sharp groan, Snape bucked his hips up and came, slick semen spurting across Harry's fingers. Harry captured his lips again, kissing him deeply as he slowed his hand around Snape's cock. Snape's eyes were unfocused, hooded, and Harry smiled down at him and thrust his hips a little harder, burying his cock a little deeper. Pressing his lips against Snape's cheek, Harry moaned and fucked Snape fast and deep until he couldn't take it anymore and he came with uncontrolled jerks of his body, his cock buried deep inside Snape. 

Harry slumped down on top of Snape, their bodies slick with sweat, and pressed his face against Snape's throat. "That was good," he whispered. 

"Hmm." Snape wrapped his arms around Harry and moved his hands across Harry's back in languid strokes. Harry closed his eyes and for a while, Snape's body beneath his and Snape's hands stroking his skin was all he knew.

\----

"I see you two managed to have a more entertaining evening than I did."

Harry blinked his eyes open, realizing he'd dozed off on top of Snape. Beneath him, Snape looked equally dazed as he stared up at Harry with bleary eyes. 

Looking up in the direction of that voice, Harry saw Voldemort standing in the door way, arms crossed. "Hey," he managed to say, and then cleared his throat. 

"Hey, yourself," Voldemort said in a mockery of Harry's mellow voice, and strode across the room to throw himself into one of the armchairs. 

"What happened?" Harry stretched his stiff muscles as he gently pushed himself off Snape. 

"Nothing," Voldemort spat, tapping one foot on the floor. 

"Oh." Harry flinched when Snape cleaned them both up with a flick of his wand. 

"I spent the whole day with that little know-it-all friend of yours, and it was a complete waste of my time." Voldemort rubbed his hands across his face in a tired gesture. "She's bright enough, and determined, but she just would not stop talking for one single second."

"Hermione?" Harry gulped. If Hermione had annoyed Voldemort that much, then what -- 

"Oh, relax, my little horcrux," Voldemort said with a smirk. "No one died."

Harry snickered, but it was out of sheer nervousness, not amusement. He glanced at Snape, who was sorting through their scattered clothes to get dressed, ignoring him. "Are you hungry, Tom?"

"I suppose," Voldemort replied with a shrug. 

"We've saved you a plate." Harry got up from the couch and reached for his jeans. "Severus made roast beef with all the good stuff."

Voldemort chuckled as he stood up from his chair. "Now this little scenario makes more sense. No wonder you fucked him through the couch, then, Harry."

Grinning, Harry pulled on his clothes as Snape did the same. "I had to show my appreciation in some way, didn't I?" He offered Snape a lavish smile, which Snape returned with a sneer, and then they followed Voldemort down to the kitchen. 

Harry heated the plate with a quick charm and served it to Voldemort, who tucked in at once. Snape made them all a cup of tea, and they joined Voldemort at the table. For a few moments, none of them spoke, but then Voldemort sat back, wiping his mouth on a linen napkin. 

"Croaker is an Occlumens." Voldemort narrowed his eyes in obvious annoyance. "Not a particularly good one, but he was still able to shield parts of his mind from me."

"Well, crap," Harry said, which earned him a snort from Snape. 

"I did get a few glimpses," Voldemort continued with a thoughtful frown. "He most certainly is interested in you, my little horcrux. There was a strong desire, an obsession almost, with wanting you or wanting something from you."

Snape crossed his arms and looked at Harry. "This is not good news."

"Indeed." Voldemort took a bite of potatoes, and they waited patiently until he'd swallowed it down. "Besides that, I picked up something to do with Dumbledore, but what, I haven't a clue."

"Dumbledore?" Harry said in astonishment. "He's dead."

"The Headmaster may be dead, but his portrait is still there," Snape said, and he did not sound pleased with this latest bit of news.

Voldemort nodded. "I could not see further into Croaker's mind. Whatever else was there, he shielded it from me. But there is no doubt that his desires run towards Harry and Dumbledore."

"Do you suppose Dumbledore told him stuff?" Harry wondered out loud. "His portrait, I mean."

"I doubt the Headmaster would voluntarily share anything he does not want to become public knowledge," Snape said. "Portrait or not."

"Like horcruxes," Harry whispered.

Voldemort looked from Harry to Snape with a furrowed brow. "And while portraits are easily Confunded, it is particularly difficult to force them to say or do anything."

They remained quiet for a few minutes, all lost in their own thoughts. Voldemort continued eating while Harry and Snape sipped their tea. 

"Did you find out anything about Croaker at the Ministry?" Harry asked, once Voldemort was done with his dinner. 

Voldemort leaned back in his chair, pushing his empty plate to the side. "Only that the Ministry is buried in useless regulations. Your Auror friends checked every rule in the book, but they could not find any way to receive clearance to the Department of Mysteries, and in particular Croaker's work there."

"Not without any concrete evidence, I should imagine," Snape said. 

"Exactly." Voldemort sighed. "And evidence is the one thing we do not have."

Harry put his elbows on the table and leaned his chin in his hands. None of this sat well with him. Croaker clearly wanted something from him, but without knowing what, there was very little they could do to stop him. "Do you suppose Croaker wants to make his own horcrux or something?"

Voldemort looked thoughtful for a second. "Perhaps."

"But what does he want me for, then? I don't know how to make a horcrux," Harry said with a slight touch of hysteria to his voice. He was so sick and fucking tired of horcruxes messing up his life. 

"We don't even know if this is what Croaker wants in the first place," Snape said with a stern look directed at Harry. Snape had no patience for hysterics, and Harry sighed and leaned back in his seat so he could stare up at the ceiling. 

"Severus, I assume you have Veritaserum at hand?" Voldemort asked without a care in the world. 

Snape snorted. "Of course."

Harry stared between his lovers while his mouth sank open, and Voldemort chuckled and gave Harry a wicked smile.

"Just in case, my little horcrux. Just in case."

\----

Harry folded a freshly laundered teacher's robe and added it to the pile on the bed. Beside him, Snape did the same with his own new robes. Voldemort was sorting through a stack of books on the desk.

"Seeing as we will be leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow, I believe it is time we come up with a concrete plan to search for Flamel's research," Snape said as he reached for another robe in the laundry basket. 

Harry blinked. So much had happened already since they'd returned to Britain, he'd almost forgotten why they'd come back in the first place. He glanced at Snape. "Maybe we could talk to Dumbledore's portrait. He trusts us, right?"

"I believe so," Snape said, shaking his robes a few times before folding them. "But we must remember the Headmaster's office belongs to Croaker now. It might not be safe to question Dumbledore's portrait with him lurking about."

Voldemort turned around to look at them. "We may have a way around that. Harry, do you still have that handy map of yours?"

It was a testimony to how little Harry had thought of Hogwarts over the years; he actually had to think for a minute what Voldemort was talking about before he remembered he still had the Marauder’s Map tucked somewhere in the bottom of his trunk. 

“Of course!” With a grin, Harry pushed his trunk open and started searching through its contents.

“Map?” Snape asked, looking suspiciously between Harry and Voldemort. “What map?”

Harry bit his lip so he wouldn’t burst out in laughter. After rummaging around in his trunk for a few minutes and coming up empty, he pulled out his wand and just summoned the damned map. 

Snape stepped closer as Harry sat on the edge of the bed and unfolded the map in his lap. Voldemort sat down on Harry’s side, and Harry glanced between them briefly before tapping his wand against the map. 

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

Ink appeared at once, twirling and stretching until rooms and corridors formed, and Harry unfolded the map further so they could see as much of Hogwarts as possible. 

“What is this?” Snape’s voice was no more than a whisper. 

“It’s a map my dad, Sirius, Remus and Pettigrew made while they were still in school,” Harry said, giving Snape an anxious look. 

“This -- “ Snape swallowed visibly and for a moment looked like he was going to hex Harry. “You had this map in school, didn’t you? In your third year, I confiscated this, but that damned werewolf gave it back to you!”

Harry snickered quietly and shared an amused glance with Voldemort. 

“I knew it,” Snape muttered, sitting down beside Harry, eyes narrowed as he stared at the map. “I knew you were up to something with that scrap of parchment, Potter.”

“You can give me a detention later,” Harry said with a grin. Snape glared in return, but then, for a second, Harry saw the corners of Snape’s mouth twitch. Harry released a relieved sigh and focused his attention on the map. 

“There,” Voldemort said as he pointed to the Headmaster’s office. The little dot named ‘Croaker’ sat still in the office. They studied the rest of the map, and saw more dots they recognized. Neville, Pomfrey, Gabrielle, Flitwick, Sinistra, Trelawney, Filch and Hestia Jones. There were a few names Harry didn’t know, but he assumed they were new staff members. 

“We will use this map to keep our eyes on Croaker,” Voldemort said. “This way, you two can question Dumbledore’s portrait while making sure you’re not caught.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry said, and tapped his wand against the map. “Mischief managed.”

Snape leaned back and crossed his arms, looking down at Harry over his hooked nose. “Now about that detention, Potter.”

Harry jumped up from the bed, laughing. “Tomorrow, at Hogwarts, you can sign me up for all the detentions you want.”

“Don’t think I won’t just because you are no longer my student,” Snape said, rising from the bed. 

“I look forward to it.” Harry stuck his tongue out at Snape and went back to his pile of laundry. 

Voldemort looked between them for a moment and shook his head.

\----

Croaker stood waiting for them in the doorway of Hogwarts. They’d apparated just beyond the main gates and walked towards the castle, their trunks and Betsy in her cage floating behind them.

“Welcome!” Croaker spread his arms wide in greeting. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

Harry exchanged a quick glance with his lovers, but none of them gave more than a nod in reply to Croaker. 

“Let me show you to your rooms,” Croaker said, waving them inside the castle. “Professor Snape, your old rooms in the dungeons have been made ready, of course. Professor Taylor, we have prepared rooms for you on the third floor, near the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.” Croaker stepped closer to Harry as they walked through the Entrance Hall. “And for you, Harry, we have found excellent rooms near the south tower, on the first floor.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, almost causing Voldemort to bump into him. “Headmaster,” Harry said as he glared at Croaker. “I’m staying with Severus. The dungeons will suit me just fine.”

“Well,” Croaker said, looking between Harry and Snape. “I understand the two of you are...intimate...but this is a school, you see. We cannot allow these kinds of...relations inside the castle.”

“And what kind of relations exactly would those be?” Voldemort asked, lips thinning. 

“Relations between two staff members...” Croaker pulled on one of his sleeves for a moment in an obvious nervous gesture. “Who are of the same gender,” he finished in a hushed voice.

“All right then,” Harry said, and turned around at once to walk straight back out of the castle. He’d had enough of this. They would just have to find another way to make a Philosopher’s Stone. He hadn’t liked Croaker to begin with, but now the man dared to suggest there was something wrong with them because they liked shagging their own gender? 

Snape caught Harry’s arm to halt him. “Headmaster,” Snape said pleasantly enough, though his eyes gleamed with malice. “Have there been any changes to the school rules since last I was employed here?”

Croaker managed a thin smile. “Not as such, I don’t believe.”

“Then my relationship with Harry is none of your business, now is it?” Snape pulled Harry close against him. “We will share my rooms in the dungeons, since this is not against any school rules. If you have a personal problem with our preferences, I suggest you stay out of our way.”

And with that, Snape pulled Harry along towards the dungeons, Voldemort on their heels. Croaker stood still for a moment, appearing speechless. Then he hurried to catch up with them. 

“I did not mean -- “

Voldemort cut him off. “Headmaster, for everyone’s sake, I suggest you shut your mouth right about now.” Harry glanced at Voldemort over his shoulder and swallowed when he saw Voldemort’s hazel eyes flash crimson. Croaker, who was walking slightly behind Voldemort, thankfully didn’t notice. 

It was one of those peculiar things Harry had learned about Voldemort over the years. While Voldemort was prejudiced in several ways, and quite unapologetic about it, he absolutely despised any kind of homophobia. Harry hoped for Croaker’s sake he’d never mention his distaste for their personal lives again in front of Voldemort, or else he wasn’t sure what Voldemort might do to him, but it would certainly involve lots and lots of pain. 

Croaker heeded Voldemort’s advice and they remained silent as they made their way down the long stairs towards Snape’s rooms. 

Snape pushed the heavy wooden door open, and Harry followed him inside, taking in their surroundings with curious eyes. It looked much the same as he remembered it. A sitting room with the kind of generic wooden furniture you’d find all around Hogwarts. A few doors leading to the bedroom and bathroom, the workroom and to Snape’s office. 

The only difference was that there were several portraits hanging on the walls. As far as Harry remembered, Snape hadn’t had any paintings in his rooms the last time he’d been a professor. 

“These will have to go,” Snape said, waving at the paintings. Apparently he’d noticed the difference, too. 

Croaker, who’d acted rather subdued until that moment, straightened himself and squared his shoulders. “These portraits are a part of Hogwarts’ history,” he said rather indignantly. “They can be found all around the castle, and in every staff room.”

“But these are our private rooms,” Snape said, looming over Croaker as he crossed his arms. “Certainly you can understand Harry and I will be performing lots of private acts in this room. We do not require an audience for that.”

Croaker looked between the three of them and clenched his jaws. “I cannot -- “

“This is not up for debate,” Voldemort said, moving closer to Croaker, his hand disappearing in the pocket of his robes where he kept his wand. 

Harry’s eyes widened and he swallowed. Was Voldemort going to curse Croaker? Perhaps an Imperius, as he had suggested before? They couldn’t risk that kind of exposure so soon into their stay here. “Headmaster,” he said quickly, and managed a cheeky grin. “Snape enjoys giving it to me up the arse. Hard. And frequently. And we really don’t want anyone to see that. I’m sure you can understand.”

Croaker’s cheeks flushed bright red and he looked down at his shoes. “Well...I suppose...Dinky!”

A house-elf appeared, wearing a pristine pillow cover. “Headmaster?”

“Have these paintings removed and take them to the east corridor on the fourth floor.”

“Yes, Headmaster.” The house-elf gave a little bow, and started flicking his fingers. A few moments later all the portraits were gone, and Harry looked at the bare walls and heaved a sigh of relief. He couldn’t care less if some old portrait saw him shagging Snape, but they could not risk anyone, painting or not, overhearing their private conversations and learning of Joseph Taylor’s true identity. 

“We will manage from here,” Snape said with a curt nod and ushered Croaker out of their rooms. 

“We will see you tonight at dinner, I assume?” Croaker managed just as he stepped out into the corridor.

“Certainly.” And with that Snape slammed the door shut in his face.

Harry glanced briefly between his lovers, and as per an unspoken agreement they all got their wands out and started casting the strongest locking and silencing charms they knew. Thanks to Snape and Voldemort, Harry had become quite good at them over the years, and it only took a few minutes before the rooms were as secure as they could make them. 

Harry tucked his wand away and stood beside Betsy’s cage. He unlatched it, and Betsy hopped out, gave a little hoot, and settled on the armrest of one of the armchairs. “That fucking bastard,” Harry muttered, and dragged his trunk inside the bedroom. 

Snape was only moments behind him with his own trunk. “Indeed,” he said, shoving his trunk towards the wardrobe. “And yet we must treat him as best we can, lest we draw even more attention to ourselves.”

Voldemort stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wand still in his hand. Harry assumed he’d unpack his things later in his own rooms, seeing as officially, he was only their friend. “I suggest you two question Dumbledore’s portrait as soon as possible to find out what Croaker is up to.”

“Yep.” Harry flopped down on the bed, arms spread out over his head, and heaved a deep breath. “I just can’t believe he’s after us for gay sex of all things.” He raised his head and looked at Snape. “Ten years ago, when you and I announced we were shagging, the staff didn’t care half as much, and I was eighteen and your student.”

Snape shrugged, but Voldemort moved further into the room and stopped beside the bed. “This isn’t about our private lives. This is about Croaker trying to split us up, specifically you two.”

“Huh.” Harry sat up and stared at Voldemort. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Colour me surprised,” Snape said with a smirk, and he went back to unloading his trunk.

\----

After they stopped by Voldemort’s new rooms to drop off his trunk (and see to it that the house-elves removed all the paintings there, too), they decided to take a stroll around the castle before dinner, just to see if anything was different about the grounds.

The Quidditch pitch loomed in the distance, and a flutter of excitement rushed up Harry’s body. He’d missed playing Quidditch over the years. Voldemort had no interest in Quidditch at all, and while Snape enjoyed watching it enough to accompany Harry to see a few professional games over the years, he had no desire to play it. 

And thus the last time Harry had ever sat on a broom to chase a Snitch had been when he’d still been a student. At least now he got to fly again, he reasoned, while teaching the students. That was something. 

They made their way towards the Forbidden Forest and walked along the edge. It still looked dark and unpleasant, and Harry suddenly remembered meeting Voldemort there in his first year while serving detention with Hagrid. He glanced up at Voldemort and wondered if he was remembering the same thing. Voldemort stared down at Harry with a slight smile. 

_“Hello.”_

_“Hello,”_ both Harry and Voldemort replied, as Snape took a step back and looked at them in alarm. 

A small, black body slithered through the grass towards them. 

Voldemort crouched down at once, and Harry followed his example. The snake raised its shiny head and peered at them with lidless black eyes. 

_“Who are you?”_ the snake asked with a tilt of its head, its tongue flicking curiously. 

_“We are friends,”_ Voldemort replied, reaching out a hand to touch a finger to the snake’s scaly back. Harry glanced from him to the snake and back, smiling. They’d met a few snakes here and there throughout their travels, and he always enjoyed talking to them as they usually meant them no harm and were merely curious about the two-legged beings who spoke their tongue.

_“Hello, friends,”_ the snake said, slithering a little closer. Harry thought it was an adder, a species native to Scotland. Venomous, but usually not aggressive. He’d learned quite a bit about snakes since living with Voldemort. 

“Joseph,” Snape said, finally taking a step closer to them. He admired snakes, Harry knew, but rarely desired to interact with them. “Perhaps we should only let Harry talk to snakes while we’re here.”

Both Harry and Voldemort looked up at him, and after a moment, Voldemort stood up and nodded once. “You are right, Severus.” 

Harry looked back down at the snake and held his hand out, so the snake could flicker its forked tongue across his fingers, taking in his scent. Snape was right, of course. The whole world knew Harry was a Parselmouth, but if suddenly Joseph Taylor showed the same ability, there would be unwelcome questions. Parseltongue was too rare a gift, after all. 

“Bring the snake, Harry,” Voldemort said, casting one last and seemingly longing glance at the snake before he turned his back to them. 

_“Would you like to come with us?”_ Harry asked politely as he held out his hand a little further. _“There are plenty of mice to eat inside the castle, and we will keep you safe.”_

The snake seemed to consider this for a few moments with rapid flicks of its tongue, and then slithered up into Harry’s hand and curled its tail around Harry’s wrist. Smiling, Harry got up and gently slid the snake inside the pocket of his robes.

Glancing around, Harry noticed they were quite alone and no one had seen or heard their encounter with the snake. He was glad for it, as it wouldn’t do to have to Obliviate someone on their first day as Hogwarts professors.


End file.
